The Muggle Born Protection Act
by e.demitria
Summary: Voldemort is at large and new Ministry policy is enacted in light of increased Muggle killings: all Muggle-borns are assigned to a Pureblood family for protection. Can Lily learn how to be a Potter...without falling for her new brother?
1. The Muggle Born Protection Act

**A/N:** Why hello, dear readers, and welcome to _The Muggle-Born Protection Act!_ To all the readers of my other story, _Pensieve_, don't worry-that is still in progress and will take precedence over this story. This just popped into my head and seemed too fun to not write! Yes, it's a frivolous idea...but you know you secretly like it. Don't try to deny it. I know you love those guilty-pleasure gimmick-y stories where authors use plot devices such as James and Lily being handcuffed together to get them married...so why don't you not-so-secretly read and review? I would really, truly appreciate the feedback. Anyways, enough of my ramblings; let's get this party started!

This story takes place just after the Marauder's fifth year, during the summer before their sixth year, in the aftermath of Snape's Worst Memory.

* * *

**Chapter One: The Muggle-Born Protection Act**

Are they kidding me? Please tell me this is a joke. Is this another Marauder prank? Yes, yes it must be. I don't think I've ever been happier to find out about a prank, to be honest. If someone told me this was a prank, right now, I probably wouldn't even yell. Or call anyone names. I might even laugh. Just a little bit, though, because let's not get carried away.

This has got to be the worst idea the Ministry has ever had. Are they out to get me? They must be; why else would they assign me to—oh, I can't even say it. Of all the pureblood families in England, they _had_ to go with his.

I bet it was _his_ idea. He would do this, just to mess with me. That's what happened; he faked this notice, right down to the Ministry seal and the signature at the bottom. Which brings us back to this being another Marauder prank. His dad works for the Ministry, it wouldn't be too difficult. I need to calm down; if I'm not careful, I'm sure I'm going to give myself an ulcer. I would never forgive James Potter if he made me give myself an ulcer. I hear those hurt and stuff. Although he'd probably think it was brilliant. He loves it when I'm uncomfortable.

Okay, Lily, breathe. You're okay. This new Muggle-Born Protection Act is clearly just a joke. Of course you don't have to live with the Potters so they can protect you. You're going to stay right here, in your own house, with your own family. It's not like you _need_ Potter's protection, anyways. Oh, he'd never let you live that down. He probably thinks he's _such_ a _hero_—just what we all need. Something else to inflate his enormous ego. I bet he has to buy extra-large shirts because the regular-sized ones don't even fit over his gigantic head. I bet that soon, he won't be able to stay on top of his broomstick because the weight of his ego will weigh him down. I bet…I bet…okay I'm out.

I thought you were going to relax, Lily! You really are a stress ball. Calm down. Stop thinking about Potter. Nothing good ever comes of it, anyways. Just think of the positives! It's the first day of the summer holidays, Petunia has a new boyfriend so she'll be too distracted to remember to hate me, for the first time in a year I have _no_ bloody homework, and my OWL scores are coming next week—

Oh no. My OWL scores.

_Why_ didn't I study more? Oh, I knew I would regret not studying more. I've been kicking myself for weeks. I need top marks to become an Auror, but Transfiguration and Arithmancy were just no good at all. And Defense Against the Dark Arts? Complete rubbish. Complete and total rubbish. I told myself to relax during the examinations, but now that I look back on it, I shouldn't have relaxed! I should have worked my slacker arse off! Oh no, oh no, oh no. If Potter beats me in marks, I'll never live it down. Of course, OWL scores are private, but I just know he's going to brag about his. If he beats me, I might actually have to kill myself. Or him. Which is a very likely possibility, seeing as I have to spend the next two months in his company.

No, Lily, we decided this was a prank, didn't we? So you can just unpack that trunk, because you're not going anywhere. Yes, take out those books, there's a good girl. Someone should have that boy arrested for murder because he's going to be the death of me.

It's a good thing I'm not staying at his house this summer.

"Lily!"

Oh good. There's mum to distract me from this torment.

"Lily, come downstairs and get your clean laundry!"

"Yes, mum!" I say. I go downstairs, where what appears to be every piece of clothing I own is folded on the couch.

"Wow, someone's a little laundry crazy today," I remark. I'll have to take multiple trips up the stairs. Damn. That is going to be tiring. I hate stairs. I hate physical activity, period. That's why I read books, you know. Oh, I can't wait until I can use magic outside of school! Then I can be as lazy as I want. Oooh, I'm going to get so fat…

"Well, I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed for the summer," Mum says. Her voice shakes. Oh no, she's been crying. Damn you, Potter. Your stupid prank made Mum cry. I hope you're happy now. Actually, I don't. I don't hope you're happy. I hope you're miserable.

"Mum, I'm not going anywhere," I say, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.

"I wish you didn't have to," Mum chokes, "but your father and I want what's best for you. We've started subscribing to _The Daily Prophet_, you know, to keep in the loop and all these killings…they're all people like you, sweetie. And we don't want you to…to…"

"Mum, stop being silly," I tell her, but my heart is sinking as my eyes fall on the most recent issue of the _Prophet_, which is conveniently lying on the couch by my clothes. There are teardrops on the article about the announcement of the Muggle Born Protection Act. It's in the _Daily Prophet_. Damn, Potter's good. He even got the newspaper to write an article about his fake act, complete with interviews with the Ministress of Magic…

Oh, sod it. It's real, isn't it? I'm actually going to have to live with the Potters.

"Lily, we're going to miss you ever so much," Mum says, and she's actually crying now. Oh, I wish she wouldn't cry, I'm so bad at comforting people. I wish I wasn't so awkward.

"Mum, it's okay," I try. That doesn't help. She just cries harder. "I'm going to miss you, too."

But this is the wrong thing to say, because now she's thrown her arms around me. She's completely hysterical. Someone should give her a sedative. And while they're at it, they can give me a magic pill that makes me slightly more sensitive. Why am I such a reject?

"Mum, mum stop," I say, because now _my_ eyes are stinging with tears, and I hate crying. "Everything is going to be okay. Like you said, this is for the best. I'll be safe with this family, and you'll be safe under Ministry protection. It's just dangerous for me to stay here, it puts you in the line of fire."

"I know," says Mum, and to my relief she lets me go. She's wiping her tears from her eyes. Phew. "I know it's for the best. But I'm still going to miss my little Lily."

"I'm not that little," I grumble. I'm sixteen, for crying out loud. I wish people would stop calling me "little."

"I know you're not," Mum says, giving me a watery smile. "You're almost grown up. And your father and I are so proud of you. Maybe that's why this is so hard…" Oh no. She's going to cry again…oh good. She takes a deep breath instead and pushes her hair out of her face. "Come on," she says, picking up a stack of clothes. "I'll help you pack."

* * *

Turns out, there's more to the notice than just the letter itself. I must have become so distracted by the news that I would have to live with Potter, of all people, that I neglected to read the rest of the instructions.

Besides the notice announcing the Muggle-Born Protection Act, a set of instructions accompanies the letter. I have to dye my hair dark brown to fit in with the rest of the Potters. Well, that's easy enough; I'll just go down to the store in a bit and buy some dye. And my eyes will have to change color, as well. A Ministry official will come by my home later to transfigure my appearance. Oh. So I guess I won't have to go to the store after all.

I look in the mirror, and sigh. I'm not even going to look like me anymore, I can tell. I try to imagine myself with dark hair and dark eyes, and it's weird. Whenever I look in the mirror, I'm going to see a stranger. That's going to take some getting used to.

I read on.

When the Ministry official comes, he will take my parents with him. Oh. I didn't know I had such a short amount of time with them. My stomach is starting to churn uncomfortably again. The letter doesn't mention the specifics of where they are to be taken. What if I never see my family again? I brush off that horrible thought and continue to read. There are more rules: I'm not allowed to send owls to my family. And I'm not to tell anyone where I'm assigned to go. Great, now I can't even rant to Mary about how unfair this all is. Attached to the rules is a new birth certificate. I've been given a whole new identity. And a new name.

"Melina Potter," I say, trying it on for size. It feels weird. I'm not a Melina, I'm a Lily. "My name is Melina Potter, nice to meet you." I try again, introducing myself to my reflection. Damn. That is going to take some getting used to. I have a new birthday, too: 22 March, 1960. And then there's a notice stating that all my school records have been changed to reflect that Melina Potter, not Lily Evans, has been attending Hogwarts for the past five years. My new parents are Francis and Victor Potter. And my new brother is James Potter.

This is weird.

There's a knock at the door, and I drop the parchment on my bed. I know who that is—it's the Ministry official. My breath is caught in my throat. Okay, Lily, you can do this. No, no I can't do this. I "can't go through with this. This is all too scary…but I know I have to. Maybe Lily can't do this…but Melina can.

I go downstairs, and the Ministry official has already let himself in. He introduces himself, but I don't pay any attention. My mother and father are in the kitchen, offering him some tea. He refuses.

"And you must be…" he consults a paper. "Melina." I nod. It's weird to hear someone talking to me as Melina, not as Lily. But I need to get used to it. I take it that he as already debriefed my parents, because neither of them look surprised by my sudden name change. "Are you ready?" asks the official, and I feel myself nod.

He takes out his wand and waves it over my head, muttering. My head feels warm, and I reach up to touch my hair, but the official catches my hand and replaces it down by my side.

"I don't want to transfigure your hand as well," he explains. "Now, close your eyes." I take a look at my parents, who are looking on with interest and fear. They've never seen magic before. I turn back to the official and close my eyes. I feel him prodding my forehead and eyes with his wand, and then, my eyes feel warm as well. I try to open them, but the Ministry official says, "No. You'll need to keep them shut for the next five minutes or so, to make sure the color stays." I nod. I reach up to touch my hair, and this time, he doesn't stop me. It doesn't feel any different, so at least I can take comfort in that.

"Your transfiguration is finished," the Ministry official says to me. "In another three minutes, you can open your eyes. Mr. Evans, Ms. Evans, are you ready?"

Ready for what?

"Yes," I hear Mum say.

"Come over here," says the Ministry official.

"What are you doing?" I ask blindly.

"Haven't you read your letter?"

"I'm not quite done with it yet," I explain.

"I have to modify your parent's memories," says the Ministry official, "to ensure that your position is never given away. Then, they will be taken to another home, where they will live in moderate comfort until the danger has passed."

He speaks as though he's reading off a note card.

"Oh," I say simply, because I don't know how to react. I'm probably not allowed to cry, which is too bad, because for the first time all day, I really, really want to. It's one thing to have my parents taken away from me, but it's another completely to have them forget I ever existed.

I hear him muttering. The memory modification is already underway. I feel a rush of anger to that Ministry official. That man is taking away all of their memories of me, and there's nothing I can do to stop them.

"I love you," I say to my parents, but there is no answer. They must have already forgotten about me.

"Come along," says the Ministry official to my parents. I hear their footsteps. They don't speak. "Your new family will be here to pick you up in one hour," says the Ministry official to me. I nod. "You can open your eyes now."

But I don't want to open my eyes. I don't want to look into my parent's eyes and see that they don't recognize me. I don't want to look around my house and realize that I may never see it again. I don't want to look at the Ministry official who has taken my life away from me in the span of ten minutes. So I keep them closed.

I hear my parents picking up their bags, and three sets of footsteps going towards the door. And then it shuts.

I open my eyes, and I see that I'm alone.


	2. The Conversationist

**Chapter Two: The Conversationist**

My breath caught in my throat. He actually lives _here?_ I mean, I know the Potters are rich, but holy…

They have a gate protecting the entrance to their house. A _gate_. And not one, but several House Elves. I can see them trimming the flowers and managing the lawn. I know I look like an idiot right now, but I can't help staring.

"What do you think?" I hear Mrs. Potter ask.

"It's…beautiful," I gasp. Mr. and Mr. Potter chuckle and wave their wands. The gates open and all the House Elves jump up to bow to us. I've never even seen one this close before.

They had magicked my luggage to their house so it wouldn't weigh us down on the trip, and so I walk, unencumbered, up to their door. There is no doorknob; only a knocker nailed onto smooth marble.

Mr. Potter lifts the knocker, and the door swung open of its own accord. Impressed, I walked in behind the Potters.

Their home is huge, but it looked comfortable. There were photos everywhere, of family and friends. One in particular caught my eye; it was a large portrait featuring Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter, James, and a dark haired, dark eyed girl. Me.

"How did you get this?" I ask, pointing towards the picture.

"It's enchanted," explains Mrs. Potter. "We had to create quite a few false portraits to make it appear that you are really a part of our family."

And there are a lot, I notice, as I continued to look around. There is one on the Potter's mantle of James and I outside the Potter manor. Both of us are forcing smiles and looking as though we wanted to be anywhere but in that position. I smirk; they got it spot on.

"Are you hungry, dear?" asks Mrs. Potter. "We had lunch about two hours ago, but I daresay you were busy with other arrangements." She smiles kindly.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Potter," I say gratefully, now realizing how hungry I actually am. Right on cue, a House Elf approaches me, holding a plate of sandwiches. I take one.

"And there's no need to call me Mrs. Potter," adds Mrs. Potter. "You need to get in the habit of calling me, 'Mum.'"

"Right," I say, taking a bite of my sandwich, but somewhere deep inside, I feel like I'm not okay with that. I mean, Mrs. Potter is nice and all, but she's not my mum. I nod politely, while secretly thinking that I would always avoid situations where I would have to call the Potters "Mum" and "Dad."

"James!" calls Mr. Potter up the stairs. "James! Our guest is here!"

There's no answer. My stomach is twisting again; I didn't realize until now how much I do not want to see James, and I can't imagine he wants to see me, either.

Here's the thing: the last time I even spoke to James, I called him an arrogant toe-rag and told him to stay away from me because he tormented my ex-best friend in public. We have barely interacted since. Not that I'm complaining—I rather enjoy not having to put up with James' incessantly obnoxious behavior. And he's finally taken the hint that I'm not interested in him and stopped trying to make me his girlfriend, which is a welcome relief. But to go from not speaking to someone for weeks to having to live with them? That's awkward.

"James!" Mr. Potter yells up the stairs again. Still no answer. "I'll go get him," he says, sighing, and makes his way up the stairs.

"James can give you a tour of the house," says Mrs. Potter. She gestures for me to sit down. I do. "I understand you know each other from school?"

My stomach turns over. It needs to stop doing that; it's driving me mad. How much had James told his parents about me?

"Yes." I give her the only safe reply. "We're both in Gryffindor." I figure I might as well throw in a complement, so she doesn't think I'm a freak. If James has told her about all the times I've turned him down, she probably thinks I'm a bitch. "He does rather well in lessons," I say, "especially Transfiguration." Mrs. Potter smiles.

"You're sweet," she says. Thankfully, I'm saved from this awkward conversation by the sound of steps coming down the stairs.

Wow. Did I just insinuate I'm thankful to see Potter?

Well, there he is, hair as infuriatingly messy as ever, dressed in Muggle jeans and a t-shirt. He walked into the kitchen with his signature slight swagger that I so despise, and looked me up and down. I just kind of stand there. It's really weird to have someone examine you like that. I thought it was rather rude of him, but then again, Potter isn't known for his tact.  
"Hi," I say, waving. Why did I wave? That's so stupid.

"You look a lot different," is all James says.

"Um, yeah," I reply, but in my head, I'm all, _duh_. He's really not as smart as everyone thinks he is.

"James, why don't you give her a tour of the house?" suggests Mrs. Potter. James shrugs.

"Okay." He starts to walk up the stairs, beckoning me to follow. I do.

"So what's your name again?" James asks.

"You know my name, you moron," I snap. What an annoying question.

"No, your new name," James explains as we ascend the stairs. "The one we're supposed to call you while you're in hiding." Oh. Now _I_ feel kind of stupid.

"Oh. Melina," I say.

"Melina," James repeats. "Right." We have reached the landing. "That's my room. Don't go in there," he says, pointing to the first door on the right. Charming boy, really. Always knows what to say to make a girl feel welcome. As if I'd _want_ to go in his stupid room, anyways. "And that's your room." He gestures to the door on the left. I nod and wonder if he's going to forbid me from going in there, too. He doesn't. We continue down the hallway.

"Bathroom," he says, pointing to another door. "And that's my parent's room." We've reached the end of the surprisingly short hallway, and there is another set of stairs. Dammit. I hate stairs. We go up them, of course, and James pushes open the only door on the landing.

"This is the observatory," says James, sounding bored as I look around in awe. The ceiling is made of glass, and I can tell that I would have a perfect view of the sky at night, if I was to come up here. There are models of the solar system on shelves around the room, and several telescopes set up near the farthest wall, which is also made of glass. James doesn't give me much time to look around, though, as by the time I turn back around to tell him how amazing this room is, he is gone. I follow him down the stairs at a slightly faster pace, to find he's already halfway down the hallway. We go back downstairs, with James not acknowledging me the entire way.

"Kitchen." He points to the kitchen. Thanks, James, I hadn't figured that out yet. "Sitting room." He points to the room with the "family" portrait that I was looking at earlier. We go down another hallway. "Drawing room." He taps on a door. "Other bathroom. That's the washroom. Living room. Library's at the end of the hallway. This concludes our tour. I hope you enjoy your stay." He says that last sentence in a monotone. Thanks, Potter, really sincere. The house is far bigger than what he has just shown me, and I understand that I've gotten an abridged tour. However, I'm not complaining. I don't want to spend extended amounts of time with James.

"Thanks," I say, and I turn around and go back up the stairs, into my new bedroom. My trunk is at the foot of my bed, which reminds me of my dormitory at Hogwarts. I open the curtains to find myself faced with a spectacular view of the Potter's yard. The sunlight pours in, and the room feels brighter, and I feel more cheerful. There's a wardrobe in the corner, and so I set myself unpacking. I'm not neat about it; I just kind of dump all my clothes into it. There is also a set of shelves near a desk, and so I stack my books there. There's not enough room, so I put some of them on my new desk. The walls have been painted light green, which I rather like, and there are more "family pictures" set around my room. I don't really like these; I find them creepy, especially the ones of "me" as a very young child. Whenever I see a picture of Melina, I can't identify with her. It still feels like she's a different person. I wonder if I'll ever get used to her. I wonder if there will be a time where it's safe for me to be Lily again. I take the pictures and stuff them in the bottom of my wardrobe so I don't have to look at them, and pull my own pictures out of my trunk. I want to put them all up, but I know I can't put up the pictures where I look like me. I hide those pictures in my Arithmancy textbook, and set up the ones of just my friends around my room. Immediately, it feels more like home.

I'm not nearly unpacked yet, but I've lost interest in the task, so I decide to explore the rest of the Potter manor. Within ten seconds of being in the library I know I'm going to be spending most of my time in there. It's enormous. There are thousands of books, all well-worn and none are dusty. I had no idea the Potters were such avid readers. In fact, I had no idea that James could even read. Heh. I actually laugh out loud at my stupid little joke as I scan the titles. Most of the books are about the Dark Arts, although there are plenty on every subject. I would never be able to read them all, even if I spent every waking moment reading.

I explore the drawing room next. I'm not sure what the difference between the sitting room, the living room, and the drawing room is, and looking at it doesn't solve this mystery. I'll have to ask someone about that. Lily may not be used to this high society life, but Melina is, and she had better be convincing. The more I explore the Potter manor, the more impressed I am. They have their own indoor swimming pool! I mean, I can't really swim, but the fact that they have one is pretty cool. I wish I had packed my swimsuit.

The grounds are no less impressive than the grounds of Hogwarts. They have two greenhouses, and thousands of magical plants are meticulously groomed in the flower beds. They even have a fountain. Who has a fountain? The place is so beautiful that I'm almost kind of excited to live her. Almost. Let's not get carried away.

"Mistress Melina?"

I look around, but no one is there.

"Down here, Miss."

I look down, and by my elbow is one of the House Elves. They really are tiny. And kind of cute, in a weird-looking way. It's weird being addressed as "Mistress," and even weirder being addressed as "Melina."

"Yes?" I say.

"Mistress Potter is telling Squeaky to come and get Miss Melina for dinner," says the House Elf. Well, it certainly is aptly named; her voice is high and resembles a mouse. If a mouse could talk, that is. I follow Squeaky back inside the manor, still marveling at the size. It took me all afternoon to explore just one house.

The house smells amazing, and the Potters have managed to cook all my favorite foods—rice, potatoes, and steak. Or did the House Elves cook this? They probably did; the Potters probably have better things to do than cook.

James and his parents are already sitting down. Squeaky pulls a chair out for me, and I sit down, slightly surprised at the action.

"Ah, yes, thank you for joining us, Melina," says Mrs. Potter, and it takes a second for me to realize she's talking to me. I really need to get used to this new name.

"You didn't wait for me, did you?" I ask, not wanting to seem rude.

"It was no trouble at all, dear," Mrs. Potter says, and I immediately resolve to never be late for dinner again. Thankfully, neither she nor Mr. Potter look annoyed. James, however, is looking sulky, but who cares what he thinks, anyways?

"For future reference, dinner is always served precisely at 6:30," Mr. Potter explains. I check my watch; it's 6:37. Wow, these people sure are punctual. I wonder how Potter ended up so disorganized with such precise parents.

"Right," I say, and the House Elves begin to serve the food.

"We hope you like the food," says Mrs. Potter. "We cooked up all James' favorites for the occasion. Not all meals will be this extravagant, though. We just thought your arrival was cause for some celebration." I blush. No one has ever celebrated my presence before. Except for Potter, but that was in a creepy way. This is…nice.

"It looks wonderful," I say, looking around at all the food. I don't even know what to touch first.

"So, Melina," says Mr. Potter, putting a slice of steak on his plate. "I think we had better get to know our new daughter."

"Oh," I say, scooping some mashed potatoes onto my plate. "Um, okay. What do you want to know?"

"Well, what do you like to do for fun?" asks Mrs. Potter kindly.

"Um, I read a lot," I say. "Your library is amazing, by the way."

"You're free to read anything you want in there," says Mrs. Potter, smiling warmly. "James here tells us you are top of every class!"

I look at Potter, who is conveniently buried in his food. I highly doubt he has been saying nice things about me to his parents. He has never said anything nice to me at all.

"I'm not," I say in an attempt to be modest, even though I kind of am. I'm just not sure what to say to that. I can feel myself blushing, and I look down to my food, avoiding eye contact.

"You're sweet," says Mrs. Potter. I feel a little uncomfortable. I'm not used to people showing such an interest in me.

"James, you've been awfully quiet all day," Mr. Potter says. "What have you been up to?"

Potter just shrugs. How eloquent. "Can Sirius and Remus come around tomorrow?"

"I don't see why not," says Mrs. Potter. "What about Peter? Why don't you invite him?"

"He's in France, with his family," says Potter.

"Alright, then," nods Mrs. Potter. "What time will they be over?"

"Probably one," Potter says. "Or something like that. You know Sirius, he's never on time."

"I miss that bloke," Mr. Potter says fondly. "Tell him I say, 'Hello.'"

"I will, dad," James says to his father. "May I be excused?"

Wait a minute. Does Potter have manners?

"Yes, you may," says Mrs. Potter. I, too, ask to be excused, because it's still awkward to be sitting with these two adults I barely know and who may or may not have been told horrible things about me.

I go back up to my room, but it's pretty boring in there. The Potters are purebloods, so they obviously don't have a television, which blows a little bit in my opinion. I rather like TV. In fact, in the summer, I usually watch unhealthy amounts of it to make up for all the brain-rotting I've missed during the school year. I'd really like to go down to the library and read, but I don't want to run into the Potters. I still feel awkward around them, and I don't want to force another conversation. So I decide to just sit on my bed. I have a lot of thinking to do, anyways.

For the first time all day, I'm not doing anything, and at first it feels good, but then all my thoughts catch up with me, and my stomach clenches. I'm starting to realize the magnitude of the situation: I've been given a whole new identity. I can't contact my friends. I'm probably never going to see my parents again. And I'm living in, of all places, Potter's house. I bet he has told his parents everything. Oh, what must they think of me? I hope he neglected to mention all the times I called him an arrogant toe-rag. And I miss my parents. And Petunia. Well, kind of. Wait. Petunia. What is going to happen to her? She didn't go with the Ministry official; she was at Vernon's house when he came by. Does this mean she's going to come home to an empty house, to find she's been deserted by her parents and sister? Oh no. And with that, I begin to cry.

I hate this situation. I hate being apart from my family, and I hate this uncertainty. Will I be stuck as Melina forever? The thought just makes me cry harder, and now, on top of everything else I'm feeling, I'm ashamed of myself. I just want to go back to my own house, and cry in my own room. Merlin, I hope these walls are soundproof, because if Potter knew I was crying, I might have to kick myself.

And as if on cue, my door opens. I quickly wipe my face on my pillow and try to regain control of myself by taking several gulps of air, but I'm sure the only thing that accomplishes is me looking like a suffocating fish.

"Evans?" Dash it all. It's Potter. Of course it's Potter. Why do these things happen to me?

"Y-yeah?" I say, and I try to keep my voice steady but instead, my voice cracks like a twelve-year-old boy.

"I thought I heard…" he trails off, but once he sees my face, he averts his eyes. Oh, I could die right here. Potter, seeing me cry. I am never going to live this down. I brace myself for the taunting, but it doesn't come. "Nevermind. Just…making sure you're…settled in."

"Well, I am," I say shakily. "So you can go now." That comes off more rudely than I intended, but I don't care. Who cares what Potter thinks of me? As long as he's not in my room, I certainly don't.

Potter nods, and leaves, closing the door behind him. I start crying again right away. Why am I so damn emotional? I get under my sheets and turn off the lamp on my bedside table. There's nothing else to do, so I cry myself to sleep.

* * *

The sun wakes me up the next morning. Normally, I would be pretty miffed, but I'm not tired in the least, even though it's seven in the morning. Seven! Lily Evans, in all her time on this earth, has never willingly woken up so early! I guess Melina Potter is a bit more of an early riser. I don't think there's anyone up yet, so I move very quietly out of my room and down the hall to take a shower. I turn the nozzle all the way to "cold," and step into the shower, relishing the feeling of frigid water on my warm skin. I rather enjoy cold showers. It makes me feel a lot cleaner than a hot shower does, and it certainly wakes me up better. Showers always make me _feel_ better, too, and I indeed feel more refreshed the longer I spend beneath the rushing water. I also do some of my best thinking in the shower, and this particular shower is no exception.

I have to say that this is weird. Being in such close proximity with Potter is making me more and more aware of our situation. Usually, Potter and my interactions go like this: he fake-hits on me, and I yell at him. We're almost constantly at odds with each other. I'm used to that. He doesn't like me, and I don't like him right back. This, however, is completely different. As mad as we make each other, we have never been this awkward around each other. I can't tell what he thinks of me. He's obviously taken the hint that he drives me mad and that I don't want him flirting with me anymore, but this new solemn, stiffly polite Potter is…weird. I mean, I'm fine with him not talking to me. I don't want to talk to him anyways. If he did, I'd probably just end up screaming at him and embarrassing myself. I suppose this will just take some getting used to. I never actually thought he would heed anything I told him! None of this makes sense. I suppose I'll just have to leave it at that.

I step out of the shower and dry myself off, and taking my clothes with me, I go back into my room. I make a mental note to bring my change of clothes into the bathroom with me next time I take a shower, as the horrible possibility of Potter seeing me in a towel burns in my mind's eye. I quickly change into jeans and a t-shirt, towel-dry my dark hair, and examine myself in the mirror.

I'm still unrecognizable. My body and face are the same, but my eyes and hair are still throwing me for a loop. I put it up in a ponytail so it will dry faster, and decide that I now look satisfactory. At least I'm clean, anyways. Not only am I clean—I'm hungry, too. So I go downstairs, where Mrs. Potter is drinking coffee and reading a copy of the _Sunday Prophet_.

"Good morning, dear," she greets me. A House Elf appears at my elbow, with a plate of eggs and bacon. I thank her, sit at the table across from Mrs. Potter, and begin to eat.

"You sure went to bed early," notes Mrs. Potter. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," I say, digging into my meal. Mrs. Potter smiles at me.

"Are you okay, dear?" she asks me. "And there is no need to say, 'okay,' because I know this must be awfully difficult for you."

Just like that, I feel like crying again. Damn. I hold it in this time, though, and admit, "Well, yeah, but I'll get used to it. Your library is wonderful."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," says Mrs. Potter, smiling warmly. I have finished my eggs, and a House Elf appears right away to clear my plate. What service. I could get used to this. "What are you up to today?"

"Um, I don't know," I say honestly. "I'll probably do some more reading. I'm just trying to get used to all this."

"Of course, Melina, dear," Mrs. Potter smiles. "If you need anything, just let me know."

"Do you hate me?" I blurt, and the very next instant I regret it. Come on, Lily. How much of an idiot are you?

"Excuse me?" chuckles Mrs. Potter.

"N-nothing," I stammer, and I can feel my face growing red. "I'm just going to go read now—"

"Now wait a minute," says Mrs. Potter, still laughing. "Why on earth would I hate such a lovely young girl?"

"It's…it's nothing," I say. "I'm just…I just say…things. I'm sorry. Please excuse me."

"Melina, come here," says Mrs. Potter. "Explain yourself. I certainly don't want you thinking I hate you!"

Okay. I might as well. I'm already a weirdo for saying that in the first place; her opinion of me can't drop any lower now.

"Does…it's just…it's James," I say. "I mean, you mentioned that he talked about me at home, and I was wondering if he told you about—"

"—about all those amusing times you turned him down?" Mrs. Potter finishes. "Not in so many words, no. He does, however, speak very highly of you, and has never given me a reason to hate you."

"R-really?" I blabber on. "He's never said anything…about…me being…I don't know, rude to him?" I could kick myself. I should. I deserve a kick in the mouth. Although with my coordination, I'd probably end up…I don't know…swallowing my foot or something.

"He's said nothing of the kind," says Mrs. Potter, snapping me back to reality, "and just between you and me, I'd say he deserves a bit of cheek."

I smile at Mrs. Potter, and relief instantly floods my body. At least _someone_ in this house likes me.

However, as I leave the room, I'm struck with another thought: Potter speaks _highly_ of me? At school, he's either taunting me for having no life, or jokingly asking me out. He has never given me any reason to believe he actually _likes_ me. I have never before considered the concept. And I'm not sure I like it.

* * *

Remus is the first to arrive. I hear him enter from the library, and I immediately go to see him. We're friends, you see, unlike Black and Potter. He was a Prefect with me last year, and I was pleasantly surprised to find out we got along quite well.

"Hi, Remus!" I say happily. It's so nice to see a friendly face that I actually give him a hug. However, that friendly face looks a little bit confused at the moment.

"Um, hello," he says, pushing me away ever so slightly. "And…you are?"

Right. I'm not Lily anymore. I'm a weird girl who just hugged a guy she isn't supposed to know.

"Oh. Right," I say, stepping back a few feet and clearing my throat. "Um, I'm Melina, James'…" I know I can't say "sister" because Remus knows James too well to fall for that, so I settle for, "cousin."

"Oh. It's nice to meet you," says Remus, holding out his hand to shake. "How did you know my name?"

"Po—James mentioned you were coming over," I say, and this is the truth. Thankfully, this awkwardness is saved by Potter, who comes down the stairs.

"Hey, mate," he says, greeting his friend.

"I didn't know your cousin was coming to visit," said Remus. James looked confused, but then seemed to catch on after Remus gestured to me.

"Right. My cousin," he says. "This is Melinda."

I dissolve into a coughing fit which sounds suspiciously like, "_Melina!"_

"Melina," James corrects himself quickly. "She's staying with us for the summer." I nod along with his story. "Don't you have some books to be reading?" asks James.

Nice. Real nice. But I don't want to be around them, anyways, so I turn to leave. However, just before I reach the end of the hallway, I hear Remus say to me,

"See you around, Melina."

* * *

Black and Remus are staying for dinner. I'm not that thrilled about this, but at least there won't be any awkward silences. Or any silences, for that matter. I managed to stay out of their way all afternoon, reading watching them play Quidditch from the library. I haven't even "met" Black yet, and you'll have to excuse me for not looking forward to it. Lily gets enough of Sirius Black, and I was hoping Melina might be spared.

I arrived for dinner early this time, because even though Mrs. Potter assured me that she did not hate me, I don't want her to think I'm rude. Mrs. Potter isn't even down for dinner yet. I should give myself a pat on the back for my prompt-ness. I sat in the same spot I had the night before, as the boys came bounding into the house, smelling of sweat. Urgh. Couldn't they have at least cleaned up for dinner?

"Who's _that_?" says Black. Always the charmer. They boys approached the table and sat down with me.

"Hi," I say. I could have said something more rude, but seeing as Black already dislikes Lily, I don't think he needs to dislike Melina as well.

"That's my cousin, Melina," says Potter, not sounding the least bit interested.

"Huh," says Black, surveying me. "So that's what you'd look like if you were a girl."

Potter hits him, while Remus laughs. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and decide to say nothing.

"Quiet, isn't she?" Black says to Potter.

"I'm right here," I snap, forgetting my place. "Don't talk about me like I can't hear you. It's very disrespectful."

All three boys stare at me. I blush, but don't look down. I said I was going to be nice, but that was just plain rude. Lily won't be treated like that, and neither will Melina, especially not by the likes of Sirius Black.

"Never mind, then," Black mutters. We are saved from further conversation by the arrival of Mrs. Potter.

"Oh, you're all here!" she says in surprise.

"Yeah, Padfoot here couldn't wait to get his hands on some of your cooking," says Potter, rolling his eyes. I'm rolling my eyes too, but for a different reason. Padfoot. What a stupid nickname. Black is grinning broadly.

"You know how I like a good home-cooked meal, Mrs. Potter," he says. Mrs. Potter laughed. Merlin; even adults aren't immune to his so-called "charms."

"Victor sends his regards, Sirius," says Mrs. Potter, and she begins to spoon salad onto everyone's plates. Black didn't answer. His mouth was full to bursting with sprouts, and he merely nodded. "Have you all met Melina?" asks Mrs. Potter politely. Everyone nods but keeps their eyes on their food. They clearly have no interest in me, and talk amongst themselves instead.

"After dinner," Potter is saying through a mouthful of rice, "I'll have to show you the newest issue of _Vampire Wars_." _Vampire Wars_. I suppress a snort. What a stupid comic book. I only know what it is because Mary's ex-boyfriend, Amos Diggory, read them constantly. He would always give us summaries of them at lunchtimes. It was around then I decided I needed to make more friends.

"I thought that wasn't due to come out until August?" Black asks.

"Dad got an early edition of it," Potter says smugly. "My uncle knows the illustrator."

"Wicked," says Black with relish, and he turns back to his meal. "This is lovely, Mrs. Potter."

Mrs. Potter giggles with delight. Really. I thought the woman was smarter than that. Potter and Black continue to discuss that stupid comic book, so I ask to be excused. I would rather sit alone in my room than listen to this garbage. And that's exactly what I do.

* * *

I've been going to bed so early lately. This is so unlike me. I'm up before seven again. If only I could do this during the school year…

I decide to take a shower first thing, and remember to bring my change of clothes into the bathroom with me. I shower rather quickly this morning, as there isn't much new to think about, other than the fact that I will never understand why boys like comic books, and return to the library. I rather like reading in the early morning; it's so peaceful. The sunlight coming through the window makes wonderful reading light, and this book is really fascinating. Potter's parents certainly have better taste in literature than he does.

However, my peaceful spell is broken by someone entering the library.

"Oh, sorry," says, to my surprise, Remus. I didn't know he and Black had slept over.

"No, it's not a problem," I say, not at all displeased to see my old friend. "I didn't know you stayed overnight."

"Yeah," says Remus. "Well, you went to bed pretty early. What's that you're reading?"

I hold up my book so he can see the title: _The Darkest of the Dark: True Stories of Aurors in the 20__th__ Century._

"Looks like some light reading," Remus chuckles.

"It's fascinating," I say.

"I'll have to take your word for it," says Remus. He sits on the couch next to me. "Do you always get up this early?"

I start to say "no," before remembering that it's Lily who doesn't get up early. Melina, on the other hand, seems to get up at daybreak every morning.

"Yeah," I say. "And yourself?" Lily already knows the answer, of course, but Melina doesn't.

"Pretty much," says Remus. "I've always been a bit of an early riser."

"So how long have you known Po—James?" I say, continuing this small talk. Remus doesn't notice that I nearly call James by his surname.

"Since our first year at Hogwarts," he explains. "We're in Gryffindor together. Do you go to Hogwarts? I can't say I remember seeing you."

"Yeah. But I'm in…Ravenclaw," I invent wildly. "Gryffindors and Ravenclaws don't really cross paths that often, do they?"

"I suppose not," says Remus, accepting my lie. "That's too bad." And he truly looks it. That's what I like most about Remus—his sincerity. Which is more than could be said for certain other boys I know. I feel bad for lying, and I want to tell him who I am, but I know that I can't. If he was to let something slip, I would be, quite literally, dead. I'm sure he would forgive me for lying if he knew the position I was in.

"How has your summer been so far?" I ask, because I can't think of anything else generic enough to ask someone who I supposedly have only known a few hours.

"It's been okay," says Remus, "but I mean, we've only been on holiday for a few days."

"Right," I say.

"And yours? How is it, living with James?" asks Remus.

"It's…fine," I say, struggling a little to answer the question. "He doesn't really talk to me, which is fine. I suppose it's bad for me to be bored in this house, but there really isn't much for me to do but read, seeing as I don't swim or play Quidditch."

"Why doesn't James talk to you?" Remus wants to know. Oh no. I never should have opened this door. I'm not even a good liar. I'll probably make up some complete rubbish and he'll look at me like the moron I am…I'll just have to stay close enough to the truth to keep my story straight, without giving myself away.

"We got in a bit of a fight last year," I say. "We've always bickered a bit, but this was a little more…major."

"What was it about, if you don't mind my asking?" Remus asks, brow furrowed, and he truly sounds interested. Unlike certain other boys I know.

"Oh you know, this and that," I say. "I mean, when people are together so often, all the little things tend to add up, you know what I mean?"

Remus nodded, and I prayed he wouldn't press me for more details. I knew I was being infuriatingly vague, and I hoped he would sense that I didn't want to talk about it. To my relief, Remus nods.

"He can be rather infuriating at times," he agrees. Finally, someone who shares my opinion! At least one of these boys is sane. "It's hard to imagine anyone not wanting to talk to you, though."

All together now: _AWWWWWWW! _What a sweet boy.

"Thanks," I say, looking down in embarrassment. "I never thought I was such a conversationist."

"You're a very interesting girl, Melina Potter," says Remus, smiling at me.

"As are you," I reply. Wait. Did I just call him a girl? "Well, no you're not."

"I'm not interesting?" Remus cocks one eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips.

"No, you're not a girl!"

"What?"

"Never mind," I say, shaking my head. And the morning passes in this manner—pleasant, interesting conversation with a pleasant, interesting boy.

Really, Potter could learn a thing or two from Remus.

* * *

**A/N**: Dear reviewers: Why are you so lovely and fantastic? I'm glad chapter one was so well-recieved! Hopefully, you guys will like this one, too. Please take a minute to review and let me know what's working, what isn't, and what I can do to improve. Oh, and if you have any questions or suggestions, please feel free to tell me those, too! Love, Dem.


	3. Practicality

**Chapter Three: Practicality**

"See you, mate," Black says to Potter at the door. I'm at the breakfast table, alone, but I can hear their conversation, and breathe a sigh of relief that he is finally leaving. I barely spoke to Black the entire visit, and he was certainly less annoying to Melina than he usually is to Lily, but I was still glad to see the back of him. I heard a _crack_ and he Apparated away. Black is always doing that; Apparating, I mean. He doesn't have his license, of course, but somehow he figured it out and he keeps doing it to show off. Just the kind of stupid, cocky thing he'd do. I hope he gets splinched someday.

"Bye, Remus," I hear James say.

"Hold on a sec," Remus replies. "Where's Melina?"

"Kitchen," says James, and I hear footsteps. Remus comes back into the kitchen, with James in tow, looking confused. "See you round," he says to me, to my great surprise, and gives me a smile. I smile back, before realizing I'm in the middle of eating and cover my mouth with my hand. Smooth, Lily. Real smooth.

"See you," I say after a short delay where I chew and swallow my food like a normal person. Remus nods, says goodbye to Potter again, and then I hear the click of the door. I go back to my eggs. Damn, these are good. Those House Elves sure can cook. Potter, however, is leaning against a wall, surveying me, with his arms crossed. I ignore him, hoping he will go away. Surprise, surprise, he doesn't.

"What was all _that_ about?" Potter demands. Okay. What is it with people talking to me while I'm eating? Would it kill everybody to wait like ten seconds before asking their questions so I don't look like a total prat?

"What?" I ask through a mouthful of egg. Attractive, I know.

"_That_!" says James, pointing to the door Remus just exited. "With you and Moony!"

Have I mentioned how much I detest their stupid nicknames? "Moony?" That makes zero sense.

"Um, he said goodbye to me?" I try, completely bewildered. Is this a trick question?

"Why? He doesn't even know you!"

I have to say, this is the longest conversation I've had with James in the past three days, and so far, I'm not a fan.

"We've been friends since second year," I tell him, trying to convey as much annoyance into my voice as possible. I hope he gets that I'm done with this conversation and goes away, but…no.

"Remus has been friends with _Lily_ since second year," James clarifies. Now he's talking to me like I'm six. Condescending prat. "However, he _just_ met Melina, and seeing as he has only said about six words to her total, I don't understand why he said goodbye to you!" And then, all of a sudden, his eyes go wide. At first, I think he's going to yell at me, but then he lowers his voice to almost a whisper: "You didn't tell him who you are, did you?"

"Do you think I'm stupid, Potter?" I snap at normal volume. "No, of course I didn't. It just so happens that _Melina_ and Remus had a nice conversation in the library this morning."

"You _talked_ to him?"

Oh my God. I _talked _to him. How will I ever live with myself.

"Yes, I talked to him. Please can we get to the point of this unpleasant conversation so I can go back to being as far away from you as possible?"

"As long as you stay away from my friends, I'll gladly ignore you," says Potter nastily. Now, that set me off. I actually stood up and crossed the room to where he was standing.

"Now, you listen to me, James Potter," I say, a hint of a snarl in my voice. "You do not, under any circumstances, get to tell me what to do. I'll talk to whoever I like, and I never want to hear a word about it again."

"I just don't want you messing with my friends," says Potter, and he doesn't look the least bit scared of me.

"_'Messing with your friends_?' Did I hear that correctly? I'm not _messing_ with anybody! We were _talking_. We had one, little conversation and he was polite enough to treat me like a human being and say goodbye before he left! Now, if you _don't _mind, I'm going for a walk." And I brush past Potter a little more forcefully than necessary and fume my way out the door and into the garden.

* * *

Leave it to James Potter to have me in a rage before lunchtime. I really wish I knew his middle name so I could use it while yelling at him. I feel that using one's full name really helps emphasize your point when you're angry with someone. But I digress. Who does he think he is? I mean, honestly. _Don't talk to my friends_. It's not my fault I'm incredibly charming. I say that sarcastically, but hey. I'm nice to people, and then they're nice back. Why does Potter have such a problem comprehending this concept? I suppose it's because kindness is rather foreign to him. He's just so…so…

_SMACK_.

Wow, did I really just walk into a tree? Why am I such a loser?

* * *

Potter and I don't speak at all the next few days. I'm talking literally no words. Which would all be fine and dandy, but being stuck here in the Potter manor is just so damn _boring_. I have no idea how I can be so bored in a giant house with every possible means of entertainment in it, but I just don't feel like swimming (read: drowning), playing Quidditch (read: killing myself), or reading every minute of my life (read: fulfilling my image as the nerd Potter constantly tells me I am). I really miss my friends. I miss human interaction. Hell, I even miss yelling at Potter, because at least then I'm engaged in something. All I do is wander around the house, trying to avoid Potter, read books, and eat. Well, at least I'll be over-prepared for Defense Against the Dark Arts next year.

However, it is completely by accident that I break our silence.

Potter and I happen to be both in the kitchen at the same time, about a week after my arrival, and a thought pops into my head.

"Where is your dad?" I ask him. He does a little double-take, as though surprised that I'm talking to him at all. I have to admit, I'm surprised I'm talking to him myself. Potter just shrugs.

"Not here."

It's responses like that that make me want to kick him in the face. I take a deep breath and decide not to lose my cool before I respond.

"Seriously, Potter." I don't really trust myself to say more than that.

"Why do you care? He's not even your dad," says Potter. Wow, rude much?

"Fine," I grumble. "Sorry I asked." I stalk out of the kitchen and take the stairs up to my room, stomping a little louder than necessary. I flop down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. My silent fuming, however, is interrupted by a knock at my door.

"Come in," I say, because it's polite. I don't really want to talk to anyone right now. Especially not the person who comes in the door. Betcha can't guess who it is.

Spoiler alert: it's Potter.

"He's an Auror," Potter says, and it takes me a second to realize he's talking about his father. He leans against my doorway as he speaks.

"I know that. You used to brag about it all the time." I can't help this little bit of wit, which for once, Potter ignores.

"Don't expect him to be home much," Potter continues. "He's out looking for Voldemort."

I feel like I already knew that, but hearing Potter say it makes it seem so much scarier.

"Oh. I see," I say, because I can't think of anything else. Potter does a weird sort of flinch, like he's going to leave but decides not to at the last minute.

"Why do you care?" he asks again, but this time his tone is curious, not rude.

"I guess because I haven't seen him since my first night here," I answer, shrugging. "I only wondered where he was. Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"You didn't," says Potter. "Don't worry about it. I—sorry I snapped at you."

Whoa, hold up. Did Potter and I just _apologize _to each other?

I sense that Potter just had the same unsettling thought, because he lingers awkwardly at the door and then leaves without another word. What a strange boy.

* * *

After our conversation in my bedroom, Potter and I are back on speaking terms. Not that we speak a lot, but we will acknowledge each other's presence civilly. That's an improvement, I suppose. We don't insult each other constantly, and he's yet to ask me out, so I guess we have never been on better terms. Not to say that I like him, of course. In fact, I still find him to be obnoxious, but I suppose I can learn to find him obnoxious quietly. He has become more tolerable, however, especially because he can't do magic outside of school, which means no mean pranks. Remus and Black come round quite often, which is a bit of a double-edged sword, because I absolutely abhor Black, but Remus is the only friend I will have contact with all summer.

On one particularly nice day, I've brought my book outside with me. I decide to sit underneath a tree, from which I have a pretty good view of Remus, Black, and Potter playing Quidditch. I don't much like the sport; I'm terrified of heights. To be honest, that's one of the reasons I blew up at Potter so much after the Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL. No one should be forced to be raised high in the air, especially when they least expect it. If he had done that to me, I'm sure I would have cried and peed my pants. I shudder involuntarily at the thought.

Even though Quidditch isn't really my thing, it's nice to have something else to look at besides my book. Every so often, I look up and watch the boys play for a while, and then I get bored and return to my book. Just my way of keeping life interesting. I don't know a whole lot about Quidditch, but from what I gather from their distant shouts, no one is really playing by the rules. For instance, in a Hogwarts Quidditch game, I have never seen another player jump off their broom and onto another player's to tackle them. It's impressive that Potter was able to stay on his broom with Black wrestling with him, though I did slightly hope that Black would fall off. I mean, I don't want him to _die_, but I'd like him to hurt just enough to wipe that stupid smirk off his face.

"What are you _doing, _you lunatic?"

"There is no hair pulling in Quidditch!"

"You can't throw the Quaffle at people!"

"Hey! You're out of bounds!"

"That is _not_ ten points for you; you scored it in _my_ goal posts!"

"No, Quidditch would _not_ be more fun if we all played upside-down!"

I catch snippets of their conversation from my spot on the ground. What silly boys. I shake my head and go back to my book.

"Enjoying yourself?"

I look up from my book. It's Remus, and he sits down next to me.

"I'm sick of Quidditch," he explains. "I mean, I like it and all, but four hours on a broom is enough." I laugh a little in agreement.

"Can't say I blame you."

"Do you play? If we had a fourth player, we could actually have fair teams," says Remus, and I actually laugh out loud at the idea.

"Quidditch? Me? Yeah, right. I have enough trouble not falling over with both feet planted on the ground." Remus laughs appreciatively at my joke.

"You remind me of a friend of mine," says Remus. "Do you know Lily Evans?"

Oh no. My mind goes into overdrive. Does he know who I am? Is this a ploy to get me to admit that I am her? Okay. Calm down, Lily. Maybe you just remind him of Lily. Which would make sense. Because you are Lily. He's looking at you funny—quick, think of something to say before he thinks you're an idiot.

"Lily Evans? The Gryffindor prefect?" I say smoothly. Oh aren't I clever.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I've seen her around," I tell Remus vaguely.

"She doesn't much like Quidditch, either," Remus explains. "But she reads nearly as much as you do. You should get to know her. I think you two would get along."

"Maybe we would," I say. "I'll have to make a point to talk to her next term."

Hahaha, if only he knew.

"How have you been?" asks Remus.

"Pretty good," I reply. "I've been doing so much reading; the Potter's library is really fantastic. Although I wish there was more to do around here. I'm basically inside reading all day."

"What about your friends?" Remus wants to know.

"They're…all on holiday," I lie quickly. "So it's been a little quiet."

"I see," says Remus, and all of the sudden he looks a little nervous. "I mean, if you're that bored, maybe sometime we could—"

"Moony! Are you coming?"

Potter interrupts Remus' sentence, and we both turn to see that Black and Potter have landed and are carrying their brooms back to the house.

"Yeah," Remus calls back. He walks away, looking a little disappointed, and says to me, "see you around, Melina."

I nod. "See you."

And then I'm alone again.

* * *

I decide to take my shower at night this time. You know, to spice up my life a bit.

I have got to be the most boring person in England.

But I digress. I had quite a bit on my mind as I stepped into the chilly water, the first being, what is Remus' deal? If I didn't know any better, I would have thought he was about to ask me out.

Then again, he hasn't really treated Melina any differently than he treats Lily, and he certainly doesn't fancy Lily. He even said that I remind him of Lily. I mean, Melina reminds him of Lily. Man, being two people sure is confusing.

But he kind of _did_ ask me out. I mean, if Potter hadn't interrupted him, he would have.

But he is so nice. He was probably just being polite. He knew I was all alone. Oh my gosh, he must think I'm such a loser. Of course he didn't mean to ask me out. Who would ask out a weird girl who talks with her mouth full and reads books about Dark wizards at all hours of the day?

But he definitely was about to ask me out.

But _was_ he? Maybe he was about to say, "maybe sometime we could go read comic books with Black and Potter." That's not the least bit romantic.

…But that would be so stupid.

Okay, Lily, you are so over thinking this. Remus and Lily hung out, just them, all last year, and that didn't mean they fancied each other. Maybe Remus just wants to be friends with Melina. Yes, I'm sure that's it.

As I step out of the shower, I can't help but think about how crazy I sound. I'll probably be diagnosed with multiple personalities soon. I wonder if Remus will still want to be my friend when he finds out that I'm diseased. What a freak I am turning out to be.

* * *

Remus didn't stay overnight, but Black did. Awesome. They kept mostly to themselves, thankfully, but they sure made a lot of noise. It's very difficult to sleep when small explosions keep erupting from the room across the hall. Around half passed ten, I got so fed up with it that I actually stalked over there in my pajamas and pounded on Potter's door.

"Keep quiet, will you?" I yelled. "Some people are trying to sleep!"

"It's ten-thirty!" I heard Black laugh from the other side of the door as I went back over to my room. "And it's summer. You think she'd at least try to have some fun."

It's official. I'm horrifically lame.

The next morning, I'm up early, as usual. Potter and Black stumble down for breakfast about two hours later, and Mrs. Potter walks in with the mail.

"I think your OWL scores just arrived," she says, and before she can even get the whole sentence out, I make a beeline for her and take the envelopes forcibly from her hand. I find the one addressed to Melina Potter, toss the remaining envelope to Potter, and rip mine open.

_Melina Elaine Potter has achieved:_

_Astronomy _O_

_Arithmancy_O_

_Care of Magical Creatures _O_

_Charms_O_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts_O_

_Herbology_O_

_History of Magic_A_

_Potions_O_

_Study of Ancient Runes_O_

_Transfiguration_E_

Instantly, I am flooded with relief. I did alright! I did _more_ than alright; I owned those exams! I suppose History of Magic could have gone better, but honestly, that's the most worthless class I've ever taken in my life, and I don't care that I barely passed. Transfiguration, however…why is it that no matter how hard I try in that class, I can never get an O? I worked my bloody arse off in that class. I studied twice as much as anyone else. I practically lived in the library the week up to the exam (yes, I realize that's not something to be proud of). I mean, that grade will get me into the NEWT class, but seriously? I seem to have this stupid block about Transfiguration. I immediately resolve to start reading up on Transfiguration; I'm sure the Potter's library has plenty of books. I am not going to settle for less-than-perfect next year.

When I finally look up from my letter, I see that Potter is still examining his in silence. Mrs. Potter looks at me and smiles.

"Well?" she asks, and I break into a smile as well, and show her my letter. She reads the grades, and her face lights up. "Oh, Melina!" And before I know it, she is hugging me. At first I don't know what to do, but then I'm hugging her back, and I feel the love and sincerity in her hug. I almost tear up a little, because it is so touching that someone who has only known me two weeks is this excited about my success. And at the same time, I feel a pang in my stomach because I wish I was sharing this moment with my own parents, not with Potter's.

"How about you, James?" asks Mrs. Potter, finally releasing me. I quickly go blow my nose in the kitchen so Potter and Black won't see my slightly red eyes. Mrs. Potter hugs Potter, too, so I assume he got top scores as well. There's another thing I hate about him; he doesn't work half as hard as I do, and yet I'm still fighting tooth and nail to stay top of my class.

"Well, you two certainly deserve a reward," says Mrs. Potter, letting go of her son and standing back to examine both of us. "What do you say we take a trip to Diagon Alley this afternoon, and you can each pick out a present?"

"Cool, thanks, mum," says Potter, and he turns back to his best friend, who is putting on his jacket. "You coming?"

"I think I'm going to get home," says Black. "I want to get my scores before my dear old mother burns them to destroy the evidence that a Black was ever in Gryffindor."

Potter nods, and Mrs. Potter acts like she didn't hear anything. I, however, am a little shocked at what he has just said. I mean, everyone knows the Blacks are a powerful pureblood family, but I had no idea the amount of animosity Black had between his parents. It makes me feel bad for him, in spite of myself. He Dissaparates, leaving Potter and I with his mother.

"Go on, go get ready!" says Mrs. Potter excitedly, and she bustles out of the room. Potter and I walk up the stairs together.

"So I gather you did well," says Potter.

"Yeah, I'm pretty happy with my scores," I reply. "What about you?"

Potter runs a hand through his hair. "Best I could have hoped for. Completely flunked History of Magic, but it's not like that class matters, anyways." I laugh.

"Too true. It's such a relief to know our scores."

"I bet you've been stressing about them all summer," says Potter, and for a second I think he is making fun of me, but he is smiling, and I understand that he is trying to laugh _with_ me, and not at me for a change.

"I have been, actually," I agree. "And I bet _you_ stopped caring the moment you put down your pencil." I flash him a smile so he would know that I'm kidding as well.

"Evans, you know me too well."

We have reached the top of the stairs, and each of us go into our respective bedrooms to change for Diagon Alley. I can't believe I actually had a conversation with James Potter that didn't make me want to kick something.

* * *

We travel by Floo Powder, as Potter and I are too young to Apparate, and don't do it illegally like certain other people we know. Actually, I have no idea if Potter Apparates or not. It's something he would do. Anyways. We arrive in Diagon Alley, covered in soot, but excited for the day.

Being Muggle-born, I only come to Diagon Alley once a year, but I realize that since the Potters are pureblood, they must come here all the time. Potter doesn't look quite as excited as I do, but I don't really care about looking dorky in front of him.

"Where to first?" I ask.

"While we're here, I have a few errands to run," says Mrs. Potter. "Do you two mind going into the Apothecary for a bit?"

I nod, but Potter groans, "_Mum_. I hate it in there. It smells."

"James, stop whining. You sound like a five-year-old."

"C'mon, Mum, how about you go do your shopping and Lily and I can go do ours?"

Mrs. Potter thinks about it for a moment. "I think that would be alright. Be sure you stick together, though, and meet back in the Leaky Cauldron in two hours. And James." She motions for him to come closer, and Potter bends down so his mother can whisper in his ear. "Whatever you do, don't call her Lily in public."

"Right," says Potter, accepting a handful of gold from his mother. We watch as Mrs. Potter walks down the cobble-stone road to the Apothecary before turning around and walking the opposite way.

"Shall we go?" asks Potter, leading the way. I roll my eyes and follow reluctantly. "What?" Potter has noticed my demeanor. How perceptive.

"Nothing," I shake my head. I shouldn't go off on him. Especially since we have been getting on so well lately. Well, more like just today. But even so. Unfortunately, my mouth has other ideas. "It's just you're so _immature_."

"What?"

"I can't believe you just whined like that," I tell him, unable to stop myself. "Your mother offers to buy you a present, and you won't even go with her to buy potions supplies because the shop smells bad."

"_Why_ do you insist on nit-picking every aspect of my personality?" Potter demands, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

"I don't—"

"Yes, you do! You just yelled at me because I whined to my mother—as if _you've _never done that!"

"Well, it _was_ a little rude!"

"Who are you, my conscience?" says Potter loudly.

"Potter, _shh!_ People are starting to stare," I hiss, and it's true. An old witch is watching us from a doorway as though we were an after-school special. Potter spies the old witch, and appears to be a little creeped out, so he puts a hand on my back and pushes me faster down the road. I shake off his hand.

"I just don't appreciate being attacked over every little thing," says Potter, at a more normal volume this time.

"I had no idea you were so sensitive," I reply darkly.

"Well, you obviously don't know me at all," Potter says grumpily. I actually laugh out loud at this melodramatic statement. "Excuse me?" he says, sounding offended.

"James Potter? _Sensitive? _Give me a break," I laugh.

"Just because someone's not some namby-pamby girly-man doesn't mean he doesn't have _feelings_."

Huh. There's a thought. James Potter has feelings. That makes me sound heartless, but look at it from my angle: for the past five years, I've seen him torture younger students, show off, pull off cocky pranks, and pester me to date him. I have always viewed this boy as an annoyance, a nuisance, like a dog that won't go away. Is it possible that maybe, just maybe, Potter feels things other than his own conceit?

"Fine," I concede. "I suppose I have been a little…harsh…in the past. But you have to admit, you are quite inconsiderate."

Potter considers this. "Maybe I've been harsh, too."

"Well, I'm glad we're in agreement."

We have fallen in step, I notice. Potter's feet and mine hit the uneven street at the same time, and we walk on like that through the streets, with not an unpleasant word between us.

* * *

I lost the game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who gets to pick the first shop, and Potter drags me—where else?—into Quality Quidditch Supplies. I feel a little pathetic inside the shop; I have no choice but to follow Potter around because I don't know anything about the sport. He doesn't really say anything to me, which is just as well. He's examining Chaser's gloves with interest, picking them up and turning them over in his hands, feeling the grip. He tries on a few pairs as I lean against a broomstick display, clearly bored.

"James!"

It's Frank Longbottom, my friend Alice's boyfriend. I like Frank, and begin to say "Hello," but Potter surreptitiously kicks me.

"Hey, Frank! What brings you down here?" asks Potter loudly, to cover up my half-spoken greeting.

"I'm looking for a new Beater's bat," says Frank, gesturing to a Beater's display in the corner of the shop. "My old one has too many dents."

"Cool," says Potter. "I need a new pair of gloves, myself."

"Who's your friend?" Frank wants to know.

"This is my sister, Melina," says Potter, without skipping a beat. Perhaps it's a good thing that Potter is such a good liar. At least his tactics to worm his way out of being blamed for a prank are coming in handy. I wave (why do I always wave? It's such a weird and awkward thing to do), and Frank extends his hand to shake.

"Hi," I say with a smile, but he's looking at us weird.

"Your sister? I didn't know you had a sister," says Frank, his brow furrowed.

"I'm in Ravenclaw," I explain. "I don't really see much of James' friends."

"You know, I think I've seen you around," says Frank, now surveying me with interest. "Did you take Muggle Studies last year?"

"Yeah, that's right!" I lie. "Well, it's nice to formally meet you, Frank."

"Same to you, Melina," he says. "See you 'round, James." He walks off to find his Beater's bat, and the instant he is out of earshot, Potter drops the gloves he has been admiring and grabs my arm, pulling me out of the shop.

"We really have to get our story straight," says Potter. "We can't have half of my friends thinking you're my cousin and the other half thinking you're my sister."

"What was I supposed to say to Remus and Black?" I demanded, instantly on the defensive. "They would have seen right through that lie!"

"L-Melina, I'm not mad at you," says Potter. "Calm down. I know. We just have to come up with a better explanation."

"I think we have to stick with me being your sister," I tell him, lowering my voice once we get out on the crowded street. "The Ministry has it set up where all my documents say I'm your sister."

"Yes, I know," says Potter, running his hand through his hair. "But what are we going to do when we go back to school and you have to pretend to be my cousin and my sister? We'll never be able to keep it up."

"Yeah, well, I'll be in Ravenclaw when we go back to school," I remind him, "and Gryffindors and Ravenclaws don't really cross paths. I should be able to blend in. How many Ravenclaw friends do you have?"

"You have a point," Potter agrees, though he sounds distracted. "But I think we should talk to my dad about all this when he gets home. He should be able to sort this all out." I nod, satisfied with this answer. "Where to next? It's your turn to pick where we're going."

"Flourish and Blotts," I say automatically. Truth is, I hadn't really thought about it, but one could always do with a new book. Potter shakes his head, but he doesn't make fun of me. Instead, all he does is a laugh a bit and say,

"Lead the way."

And lead the way I do. I breathe in the familiar smell of books, and what a wonderful smell it is! Fresh new paper, with words that I've never read before printed on them. Potter looks just as bored as I felt in Quality Quidditch Supplies, but that's not my problem. Thankfully, he doesn't complain, and I am free to peruse the books in the shop in peace.

"There are so many books," I gush, running my hand over the spines. "I can't decide."

"It's a book," says Potter. "They're all boring. Just pick one."

"Maybe I should get this one," I say, pulling _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6_ off the shelves. "I'll need it for sixth year, anyways. It would be practical."

"Li-Melina," says Potter, sounding exasperated. He takes the book and replaces it on the shelf, to my protests. "Why does everything have to be practical with you?"

"What kind of a question is that? Do you have a problem with practicality?"

"I just don't understand how someone can be so incapable of doing anything fun. Come on. When was the last time you did anything impractical? When was the last time you did anything just for the fun of it? Just for the _rush?_"

I was aware of what was happening; Potter was baiting me. But even though I knew what was going on, that didn't stop me from biting.

"And what is your idea of fun? Hexing defenseless first-years? Showing off on your stupid broomstick? Pulling dangerous pranks?"

"I could ask you the same question," says Potter, though he flinches a bit at those (very accurate) accusations. "What's _your_ idea of fun? Sucking up to teachers? Reading every book you can get your hands on? Writing extra-credit essays for Slughorn?"

Potter and I stare at each other. We have reached a crossroads. No matter how much the other didn't want it to be true, Potter and I had each other's measure. We were never friends, but when you live with someone for five years, you tend to get to know them. Maybe we didn't know everything about each other, and maybe there were a few misconceptions, but overall, I knew who James Potter was, and he knew who Lily Evans was. We had been getting along so well all day, but it didn't surprise me how easily we fell back into our old, bickering ways. This is supposed to be the part where I blow up at Potter, calling him names and telling him to stay away from me. This is supposed to be the part where I stalk off angrily to fume to my friends about what an arrogant berk he is. This is just how things go. It's the natural order.

And that's why it shocks me when instead of screaming at Potter, I whip _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6_ off the shelf again, tuck it under my arm, and without a second look at anybody, I walk out of the store.

I continue to walk down the street, careful to keep my eyes straight ahead. I hear Potter's footsteps behind me, and so I don't bother looking back to make sure he has followed. I take a few sharp turns and then find a promising-looking dark alleyway, where I stop. There, I turn to face Potter defiantly.

"I can't _believe _you just did that," says Potter, looking both shocked and on the verge of laughter. "That's _stealing_. I didn't know that Lily Evans was a thief!"

"Shh!" I say, chastising him for the use of my given name. I also feel a pang of guilt for stealing the book, and another twinge of annoyance for being referred to as a thief. However, my body feels like it's on fire, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins is such an addicting feeling. I can't seem to get enough of it. This is not something that Lily Evans ever felt. Melina Potter, on the other hand, is a daredevil.

"What, is this too impractical for you?" I smirk at Potter, surprised by my own wit. His mouth is hanging open. Haha, weren't expecting _that_ one, were you, Potter? I'm not boring. I'm unpredictable. I'm _wild_. I'm _impractical_. I do things and don't care about the consequences. I'm bad. Oh yeah.

"I can't believe you stole that," Potter says again, and now he's really laughing, and before I can stop myself, I'm laughing with him. Can you imagine? Lily Evans, Prefect, holding a stolen textbook in a dark alleyway with James Potter, laughing like a loon. What has this world come to?

When our laughter finally subsides, I take a few deep breaths and look at the book. "We really should go pay for this."

James nods in agreement, and together, we walk back to Flourish and Blotts, still chuckling about our little adventure.

* * *

**A/N: **And there's chapter 3! I was going to wait a little longer to put this up, but I wanted to show it to you guys now. Thank you to: Howl To The Moon, LunaInTheSky, hpfan, mselphabathropp109, Niamh Cullen, Queen lover, Just-As-Loony-As-Luna, LanaDeLuca, ilovemybestfriends, dgdh, iloveveronicamars, crocadile1986, KatAngel16, Beautifullyfucked, H o r i z o n s, and icebend28 for your lovely reviews! Also, a shout out to Agnes Wernek, who is amazing and is translating this fic into Portugese! Check it out-the link is on my profile.

Please drop by and leave a review! I would really appreciate input. Two of you mentioned you don't want anything Melina/Remus...is that the general concensus? Because what I have planned is necessary for James and Lily's relationship. Also, reccommend some fics to me! I'll give you guys some of my favs next chapter :)

This is a long author's note, so I'll wrap it up!

-Dem


	4. Meliora

**Chapter Four: Meliora**

Mr. Potter came home last night. I've always been a light sleeper, and I heard the _crack_ of him Apparating downstairs, and then muttered conversation with Mrs. Potter. The next morning at breakfast, he gets right down to business.

"So, Melina, I trust you are enjoying your stay," he says, as though I'm staying at a hotel. I nod.

"Yes, very much so."

"Well, we need to discuss a few things," says Mr. Potter, putting down his fork and looking serious. I glanced at James, who shrugged at me. "Melina, you need to learn how to become a convincing member of the Potter family."

"Oh," I say. I was expecting something like this. When Mr. Potter doesn't elaborate, I say, "Um, how exactly do I do that?"

"To start, you need to learn our family tree," Mr. Potter explains. "If you are ever interrogated, you need to come off as one of the family, and that means knowing who all of your aunts, uncles, and cousins are."

"Right," I say, but then a disturbing thought occurs to me. "What if a member of the family is interrogated and they give me away?"

"Our family was briefed on the situation before we took you in," Mr. Potter assures me. "I guarantee you, nobody will give you away." I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I had been holding.

"What about friends?" James wants to know.

"What about them?"

"Sirius and Remus visited," says James, "and they met Melina, but we had to tell them that she was my cousin. They know I don't have a sister."

Mr. Potter thought on that for a while. "We'll have to Confund them," he sighed. "There's no other way…they have to believe you have a sister, for her own safety." James did not look too happy about this prospect, and I didn't feel great about it, either. A lot of people were being inconvenienced just so I could stay hidden.

"I'm not sure if I feel good about that," I say nervously. "I mean, this is a lot, and I really don't want to be an inconvenience…"

"Lily." Mr. Potter's use of my given name lessens the knot in my stomach slightly. "We were aware of the risks when we volunteered for this, and these are all necessary precautions. Your protection is our priority." I still felt guilty, but managed to smile weakly.

"What about my friends?" I ask. "They're going to notice when I don't show up for school…"

"A lot of Muggle-borns are going into hiding," says Mr. Potter. "No one will be surprised when you don't show up at Hogwarts. It will probably go mostly un-noticed."

"But it _will_ be noticed when Melina shows up, out of the blue," I add.

"All your records have been changed to indicate that you have always been a member of Ravenclaw house," Mr. Potter reminds me. "And as for the Ravenclaws, their memories have been modified by the Accidental Magical Reverse Squad. You should be able to slip in under the radar, relatively unnoticed." Finally satisfied, I said nothing else.

"Additionally, you are going to have to learn how to duel," Mr. Potter elaborates. "We don't expect you to be attacked, especially given the security measures you have been given, but if you ever find yourself in a compromising situation, you need to be prepared."

Now, that scares me. Hearing Mr. Potter talk about all this is making me realize exactly how dangerous this whole situation is. I'm hidden because people are _coming after me_. I could _die_. And I have to learn how to protect myself.

"When do I start?"

* * *

I started right then.

Mr. Potter had to go back to work soon after this conversation, but the work began anyways. First order of business was to learn the Potter's family tree. I thought this would be easy, but…no. The Potters are an old pureblood family, and their tree dates back hundreds of years. How is anybody supposed to memorize all those people? Mrs. Potter drilled the names of all these dead people into my head for the better part of two hours before taking pity on my and letting me break for lunch. I officially feel like an idiot for complaining about being bored, because reading and doing nothing is a lot more fun than this.

We are at this all day. I'm so jealous of James; I can see him whizzing passed the window on his broomstick. Stupid broomstick. Stupid Quidditch. Stupid family tree.

"What's that, dear?" Mrs. Potter asks, looking concerned. Crap. I said that out loud, didn't I?

"Oh, um nothing," I say, clearing my throat. "Can we go over the Peverells again?"

* * *

After dinner, Mrs. Potter finally put me out of my misery. However, before I left the table, she handed me a set of flash cards, and told me to practice with them. Great. I have homework. With nothing else to do, I went upstairs and flopped down on my bed. I wanted to just go to sleep, but images of Death Eaters banging down the door and demanding I recite obscure Potter cousins filled my mind and I grabbed the flash cards.

I soon discovered that these weren't ordinary muggle flash cards—whenever I got an answer wrong, they yelled at me and beat me around the head. The first time it happened, I screamed and fell off the bed, flapping my arms around my face.

"Stop! Stop it! Stop it, you stupid flashcards, stop it!" I yelled, rolling around on the floor. I finally got hold of one of the cards, and started to grab them out of the air. They became, if possible, even more violent.

"Lily!"

I stopped resisting the flashcards for a second to see James standing in my doorway, laughing his head off. One of the flashcards hit me in the face.

"Don't just stand there! Help me turn them off!" I screamed, flapping my arms wildly again. Still chuckling, James shouted, "Meliora!" and the cards fluttered to the ground, utterly harmless.

"Meliora," I grumbled from the ground. "What's that?"

"It means, 'Ever better,'" said Potter, extending a hand to help me up. I accepted it, and stumbled to my feet. "It's the Potter family motto."

"Right," I reply, trying to regain an ounce of my dignity. "Your family is so damn _big_."

"Don't I know it," said Potter, rolling his eyes. "Mum made me use those flashcards, too, when I was a kid. Family heritage is really important to her."

"All I can say is," I said ruefully, "those Death Eaters better not quiz me on your family, because if so, I'm a goner."

"Don't say that," James said, his face suddenly serious. "Don't even joke about that."

James was looking at me with such intensity that I felt obligated to stare back, and suddenly, I was hooked. His eyes were drawing me in, his deep, hazel eyes, and those eyes were the only thing in the world. We were standing so close that I could see my reflection in his glasses, and my eyes looked wide and scared. I became very aware of the fact that James was still holding my hand. I wanted to push him away, and run from the room, because these feelings that he was making me feel were scaring me, but at the same time, it felt too good to let go.

James raised a hand and pushed a stray strand of hair back from my face and tucked it behind my ear. I blinked, breaking the spell, and cleared my throat. James dropped my hand and looked down at the floor, but I could still see his face growing red. Mine was a little hot as well.

"Ahem. Um. Thanks," I said, gesturing to the flashcards that now littered the floor.

"Yeah, no problem," James replied, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Happy studying."

"Yeah," I said, and James walked out of the room.

It's been an hour, I've gotten zero studying done, and I have no idea what the hell just happened.

* * *

Shower time. I have some serious thinking to do.

I feel a little sick. I think I have some food poisoning. There are these weird butterflies in my stomach. I bet my chicken sandwich at lunch wasn't fully cooked. That must be what this is. I clearly am ill. What other explanation could there possibly be for me being…dare I say it?..._attracted_ to James Potter?

I mean, I'm not blind. He's not ugly. But his personality sure is. He's an arrogant bully, nothing more and nothing less. The only reason I haven't seen him bully anyone is because there isn't anyone here _to_ bully. He's just trying to play me, like he does all those other girls. I'm not going to be used like that. I'm not a tool that he can use to boost his ego. I'm Lily Evans, and Lily Evans has self-respect.

But then again, now I think on it, I've been here two and a half weeks and he hasn't hit on me at all. In fact, he's been pretty nice. I mean, we've been getting along really well. Is it possible that he is just…being nice?

No, no that's not possible. This is the boy who hexed a first year Slytherin just because he was _there_. He hangs people upside-down. He plays mean pranks. He's an arrogant, Quidditch-playing meathead who gets by in school on pure charm. And that's just what happened: he charmed you, just like he charmed all those other girls before you. He's just trying to make a fool out of you.

But those eyes…they were so sincere. And his voice…it almost cracked. He sounded like…like he really cared. Oh my God, snap out of it. Now.

Okay, Lily, wait a minute. Before you go fall for him, there's one tiny problem: YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE HIS TWIN SISTER. How is it going to look when you and your _brother_ start dating? Jeez, Lily, I thought you were smarter than that. If you go out with him, you're going to blow your freaking cover. And besides, you don't _want _to go out with him in the first place. Right? _Right?_ Right.

Okay. Deep breath. Glad that's settled.

* * *

Thankfully, the next day I don't have to see Potter at all. He's gone off to Remus' house, so I don't have to worry about any awkward conversations today. Well, I'm so awkward, I'm sure I'll find another way to say something uncomfortable to someone.

Unless I stay in my room and study these darn flash cards.

It's fear that keeps me motivated to learn these names that mean nothing to me. Every time I decide to stop and take a break, I feel a pang of horror in my stomach as I imagine Death Eaters hauling me off to a generic dungeon and torturing me. But after another hour and a half of mindless studying, even the threat of Voldemort's followers isn't enough to keep me going. I need a snack.

I'm alone in the kitchen. Mrs. Potter has gone out to do some shopping, Mr. Potter is off at work, and the only company I have is an issue of _The Daily Prophet_ lying on the table. I pour myself some cereal and sit down, unfurling the newspaper.

This is a big mistake.

_Muggle-Born Death Toll Increases, End Nowhere In Sight_

_On July 12__th__, Mrs. Natalia Copenhaver went out for her regular evening stroll around the block, just as she had done every day since she moved onto Bradley Street in London. Unlike every walk before her, however, Mrs. Copenhaver did not return to her home. When asked to comment, her neighbors were at a loss._

_"I didn't see nothin'," said Mr. Martin Cray. "I mind me own business. I don't make a habit of watchin' other people go about their own business. Didn't see nothin', didn't hear nothin'." _

_Unfortunately, Mrs. Copenhaver's mysterious disappearance is not the only one of it's kind. Last week, no less than fourteen witches and wizards of Muggle descent disappeared, and another twenty-four were found dead in their homes. _

_"They all are victims of the Killing Curse, there's no doubt about it," a Ministry official commented, confirming the fears of hundreds. However, when asked to dispel fears that You-Know-Who is behind these attacks, the Ministry is less convincing._

_"We can't rule out anything yet, and we certainly don't want to cause a panic," said Bartemius Crouch of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. _

_These incidents bring the Muggle-born and Muggle death toll into the thousands, in addition to over 500 missing—_

I slam the paper down, shaking. I can't read anymore. I can't do this. Oh Merlin, I can't do this. What if I'm next?

I can't stop myself; I'm sobbing over the newspaper. And I don't mean crying, I'm talking full on sobbing. Complete with unattractive noises and snot bubbles. I can't control myself. I can't do this. I can't, I can't, I can't.

"I can't," I say, because I can't hold it in. "I can't, I can't, I can't do it."

"Can't do what, Miss?"

I look down through my puffy eyes, and see a House Elf. She looks concerned, and raises a hand to put on my arm.

"N-nothing," I gulp. "Sorry t-to b-b-bother you."

"Mistress Melina is no bother," says the House Elf. "It is our duty to serve, Miss, and you looks so sad…"

"It's just…" say, and then I'm sobbing again, out of gratitude for the House Elf's kindness, and out of fear of being killed by Voldemort, and out of loneliness and missing my parents and every other stupid emotion, and it's all just pouring out. The poor House Elf pats my arm, saying, "There, there, Miss Melina, it's all okay."

"It's _not_ okay," I say childishly. "And _stop_ calling me Melina! I'm not Melina! I don't want this! I _hate _this!"

"Miss, I know," says the House Elf reassuringly. "I know you is Mistress Lily, not Mistress Melina."

"Y—you do?" Somehow this calms me slightly, enough to sniff and gulp and regain my composure slightly.

"Yes," says the House Elf. "Mimi knows that you is Mistress Lily, and Mimi knows why you is here, but Mimi is bound by her family to never tell a soul."

"But—how do you know?" I ask. "The Potters all call me Melina…"

"Mimi hears things," says Mimi simply. "All the House Elves hear things. We hears the Potters talking about Mistress Lily, and how she is to come to stay."

"Oh," is all I can manage. Mimi gives me a handkerchief and I blow my nose loudly in it.

"But do not worry, Miss Lily. Miss Lily has been given every possibly security measure," Mimi assures me. "This house has been made Unplottable, you see, and Master Potter has set up a Fidelius Charm, just to hide you."

"A Fidelius Charm?" I ask, completely wowed by this. "That's a serious bit of magic."

"Miss Lily must be protected," Mimi says resolutely. "And if that means a Fidelius Charm, then masters must do a Fidelius Charm."

That makes me feel a little better. I sniff, and wipe my nose and eyes on my sleeve.

"Thank you, Mimi," I say, patting the little elf on the head.

"It is no problem, Miss," says Mimi. "I'm sorry, but you knows that I must call you 'Melina,' always, for your own safety."

I nod. "Would it be okay if…maybe…you called me 'Lily' when we are alone? Like now?"

"House Elves can not disobey a direct order from their masters," says Mimi. "Does Mistress Lily want some tea?"

With a watery smile, I accept the tea, and push away the newspaper. It is truly amazing what a little bit of kindness can do to someone's mood.

* * *

To my surprise, Mr. Potter is home for dinner. James, however, isn't. He elected to stay at Remus' for dinner, which is fine by me. The less time I spend with that boy, the better.

"I hear you have become acquainted with our family tree," says Mr. Potter. He really is much more polite than James; he doesn't talk with his mouth full. I wonder how James ended up so strange with such normal parents.

"Yes," I say. "I've been studying loads."

"Do you think you're ready for a little quiz?" he asks, and I nod. "What was my mother's name?"

"Morwenna. Morwenna Marchbanks," I reply promptly.

"And my father?"

"Demitrius Potter."

"Can you name all of your first cousins?"

"Abigail Potter, Maxwell Potter, Jeanette Potter, Winston Potter, Ivan Potter, Oliver Clearwater, and Hansen Clearwater."

"Correct. Now, what about your aunts on Francis' side?"

"Winifred and Catherine Clearwater."

"Very good," says Mr. Potter, and he looks impressed now. He makes me trace the tree back four more generations, and I wrack my brain to remember the obnoxiously long names of "my" relatives.

"Excellent, Melina, excellent," laughs Mr. Potter as I reel off another set of distant cousins. "You memorized the whole tree in just two days! When James said you were sharp, he wasn't lying!"

I can't help but feel a little flattered. By Mr. Potter, that is, not by what James said. Because I don't care about what James said. He can tell his father that I'm the bloody Queen of England and it wouldn't make a difference to me.

"Thank you," I say sheepishly.

"Tomorrow, I'm taking the day off work," Mr. Potter tells me, "and James and I are going to teach you how to duel."

"Okay," I tell him, but this simple, one-word answer does not convey my excitement. I've always wanted to learn to duel, and despite this rather dire situation, I'm eager to try it.

* * *

"Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, and your wand arm raised," Mr. Potter instructs me. "No, not like that. Never leave your body that open to an attacker." I quickly turn, correcting my mistake. "Good. You always want the smallest amount of you possible exposed."

I made a mental note to always keep myself turned to the side.

"Now, bend your knees. You need to lower your center of gravity, so you don't lose balance as easily," says Mr. Potter, demonstrating. I do as he says. "The first thing we are going to teach you is how to dodge a spell."

"Isn't that just a Shield Charm?" I ask. "I can do that."

"No, no, I said 'dodging,' not 'blocking." Mr. Potter explains. "In the heat of a duel, instinct kicks in, and instinct is to duck, not say, 'Protego.' Here, James will demonstrate."

I step aside, onto the sidelines of the Quidditch pitch, where we are practicing. James stands opposite his father, no wand in hand, and takes his stance.

"On three," Mr. Potter says, and James nods. "One. Two. Three."

Mr. Potter shoots red sparks at his son, who ducks—the sparks barely graze the top of his head, and his insufferably messy hair actually is whipped back by the spell. However, James doesn't even have the time to re-ruffle his hair before Mr. Potter shoots more red sparks at him, which James jumps to dodge. Mr. Potter continues to hurl sparks at James, and I have to say that I'm impressed with James' agility. Not one of Mr. Potter's spells hits him. His face is drawn into an expression of complete focus that I have never seen before, and his eyes are burning with that intensity that I saw in my bedroom two days ago. I can't seem to take my eyes off him; he's truly fascinating to watch. He flattens himself against the ground to avoid another shot of sparks, and then jumps back up to avoid the counter-attack. And he's barely breaking a sweat.

Mr. Potter stops sending sparks, and James stands up, wiping his forehead with his arm and breathing hard.

"Very good," says Mr. Potter. "Melina, I want you to do just like James."

I make my way back to the center of the pitch, eager to try my hand at this whole "dodging" thing, despite the fact that it reminds me horribly of dodge ball in grammar school gym class.

"I'm not going to go as fast with you as I did with him," Mr. Potter tells me, and I breathe a little sigh of relief. "There is no real way to learn this skill except to practice. Dodging is all about instinct. Don't think. Just do everything in your power to get out of the way of the spell."

I nod, and assume my dueling stance.

"On three," says Mr. Potter. "One. Two. Three."

And before I know it, I'm on the ground, flattened by the force of Mr. Potter's spell.

"That's okay, get up," Mr. Potter calls. "Let's try again."

I stumble to my feet, rubbing my upper arm where the spell impacted. This is going to be a lot harder than James made it look. With a better sense of what was coming, I prepare myself for the spell.

_Jump out of the way_, I think. _Just jump out of the way of the spell. _

Mr. Potter sends more red sparks my way, but again, I don't react quickly enough. This time, the sparks don't push me over, but they do hit me in the leg.

Now I'm a little frustrated. James made it look so easy, and I can't even jump out of the way of one lousy spell. I grit my teeth and resolve to react more quickly next time.

But Mr. Potter's sparks hit me again. And they hit me the next time, and the try after that. It seems as if the more I concentrate on not getting hit, the harder I get hit.

I'm getting really frustrated, and I can tell that Mr. Potter is frustrated as well.

"Let's take a break," he suggests, and I gladly flop down on the field, taking big gulping breaths. I have never done anything this physically strenuous in my life. A House Elf appears at my side, holding a glass of water. I thank her, and drink it up.

I feel better after being hydrated, and stand up to show Mr. Potter that I'm ready for round two. However, his next seven spells hit me dead-on, and I'm about ready to throw in the towel.

"Are you alright, Melina?" Mr. Potter calls.

"Yes, fine," I say, trying to hide the frustration in my voice. Mr. Potter nodded and raised his wand again, but before he could attack me again, a translucent lion came galloping onto the pitch. I jump, and gawk at it, though James and his father seem to regard this lion's presence as nothing out of the ordinary. I am further bewildered when the lion opens his mouth and begins to speak:

"More Dark activity has been noted in London. Your presence is needed."

Mr. Potter nods and stuffs his wand into his robes. The lion disappears.

"My apologies," Mr. Potter says to me, "but I must go. James, will you take over for me?"

"Yeah," says James, moving from his place on the sidelines, and we watch his father Dissaparate.

"What was that?" I ask stupidly, pointing to where the lion just disappeared.

"A Patronus," James replies. "It's how the Aurors communicate with each other. Much more efficient than owls or Floo."

"Right," I say, now cursing myself for my idiocy. How did I not recognize a Patronus?

"Are you ready to have another go at it?" asks James, taking out his wand. I'm not exactly thrilled at the idea of James Potter throwing jinxes at me, and I think he knows why I'm wary, because he adds, "Relax. I'm just going to shoot red sparks at you."

"Wait a second," I say. "How are we going to do this? You can't use magic."

"Huh?"

"You're underage!" I remind him. "Last I checked, under-seventeens can't use magic outside of school!"

"Relax, Lily," says James. "This house has every protective spell on it known to Wizardkind. The Ministry can't even detect the Trace through all our enchantments."

"So why haven't you been using magic all summer?" I want to know, folding my arms.

"Because Mum still wants us to be following the rules," James explains, rolling his eyes. "We're still not supposed to be using magic, even with all the protective enchantments, but this is an extenuating circumstance. You need to learn to defend yourself."

"Right," I say, backing away from James to my spot in the middle of the pitch and readying myself. "If you actually hex me, I'll kill you," I warn him, and I mean it. If he pulls a Bat-Bogey Hex on me and I have to walk around with little flappy wings around my ears…oooh, heads are going to roll.

"I believe it. On three," says James, his wand raised. "One. Two. Three."

And an instant later, I'm down.

James comes over to help me up, but this time, I don't accept his helping hand. I don't want my mind wandering to forbidden places again. _Forbidden places_. Dear Lord, I sound like one of Petunia's trashy romance novels.

"You're thinking too much," James remarks. "Dodging isn't about thinking, it's about reacting."

"Easy for you to say," I grumble, "you're a regular professional."

"Was that a complement?" James asks, smiling.

"No teasing right now," I snap, in a fruitless attempt to wipe the smirk off his face. "Why can't I do this properly?"

"I think it's because you're not in the moment," James tells me. "Like I said, you're thinking too much. You need to let your fear and anger take over, and your instincts need to override your brain. Don't think, just do."

"How do I do that?"

"Easy," says James. "You get angry with me. That won't be a problem, will it?"

I actually laugh. "No, I'm sure that will be fine."

"Okay. Now I'm going to go back over there, and I need you to remember the time that I pissed you off the most. And I need you to get just as angry as you were in the memory. Let the anger fill you. Don't think about anything except for being as angry at me as possible. Got it?"

"Got it," I say. This is not going to be hard at all.

I close my eyes and try to decide on one memory. What, of all that James has done, made me the most angry? Was it all those times he publicly humiliated me by asking me out? All the pranks I had to clean up? All the first years' he tormented?

And then I fall upon the perfect memory: the Marauders torturing Snape down by the lake, a month ago. On cue, my stomach began to bubble with rage, and my fists clench at my sides.

"Ready?" I hear James call distantly, but I'm not listening. I'm thinking about what it would be like to hang upside down in the air, and a shot of fear courses through my veins. I have never felt so alive.

I don't even hear James count down, and I don't see the red sparks until they're directly in front of me. I don't take the time to register them as my body acts of its own accord. I fling myself out of the way, very ungracefully, and land face-first on the ground.

"Is that all you've got, you arrogant toerag?" I taunt, spitting out a mouthful of dirt as I get back on my feet. James shoots more sparks at me, which I dodge again. James begins to pick up speed, flinging sparks at me at a higher rate, but I'm still no match for him. I'm not even looking for the red sparks anymore—instead, I listen for the sound of the spell flying through the air and let my body do the rest. It takes another minute for James to finally hit me, and I lie down on the pitch, breathing hard. As I calm down, I feel my anger abate, and notice that my side stings where James finally managed to take me down.

"Nice work," he says. He has walked over and is now kneeling beside me. "I'm impressed."

"You should be," I smirk. "If I knew all I had to do was get angry with you, I would have been this good an hour ago."

"Don't get cocky," warned James through a smile. "You still need more practice. But it was a really good improvement."

"Thanks," I say, propping myself up on my elbows. "I couldn't have done it without you and you insufferable personality."

"I'm flattered," James tells me, but his smile is faltering a bit. "If you don't mind me asking…what were you thinking of when you did that?"

For a second, I wonder if I should be honest with him. I'm afraid that disclosing this information will just open old wounds…but then I remind myself that I don't care about what James Potter thinks, and tell him the truth.

"That day by the lake," I say, "right after the Defense OWL. When you and Black and—"

"I know, I know what happened." James cuts me off, and he sounds annoyed.

"Have I hit a nerve?" I ask before I can stop myself. Yes, Lily, you have hit a nerve. Any idiot can see that.

"Just a bit, yeah," James replies gruffly, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "I'm not exactly proud of that."

"You seemed pretty proud of it while you were hanging Snape upside down," I say bitterly, before I can stop myself. I really need to get a hold on this stupid mouth of mine. It's going to get me into a lot of trouble someday.

"Yeah. But that was before I saw your face when you told me I make you sick."

"Oh." I didn't expect him to say something so...I don't know. I wanted to tell him that he shouldn't have to use me as a guide for what he can be proud of, but my mouth isn't working at the moment. I made a point not to look at him, because I didn't want to get caught in that hypnotizing stare again.

"I don't want to be that guy you hate anymore," James continues, and he has lowered his voice. I tense up, afraid of what is going to come next. Not only am I terrified of James sincerely confessing his love for me, I'm terrified of how I might react. What if he tells me he is in love with me, and I actually think _favorably_ of it? "I want to be…friends."

"Oh," I say, and I have to admit, I rather like that idea. But another thought has struck me, and my traitor of a mouth has voiced it before I can get a hold of myself. "If you wanted to be friends, why did you ignore me the first week I was here?"  
"Lily, I thought you were smarter than that," James says, looking surprised. "Last time I saw you, you told me you preferred the giant squid over me, which I took to mean that the last thing you wanted was to live in my house. So I gave you space."

"Right," I say, my suspicions confirmed. "But okay…why couldn't you have given me space all those times I told you to stuff it? Why now?"

James merely shrugged. "Looks like things worked out okay."

I survey James, and I think he's aware that he's under a microscope right now. I'm not sure what I'm looking for. I wish I had a sincerity detector, so I could tell when he was being serious and when he was messing with me. No, I wish I could read his mind. I never know what he's thinking, and that scares me. He's so much more complicated than I made him out to be. He's not this one-sided, flat figure with only one setting (bastard) anymore, he's this potentially kind and considerate guy who wants to be my friend.

My initial instinct, of course, is to smack him. It would be so easy for me to whack him on the shoulder, call him a name, and stalk off to the house to stew in my own anger. But another possibility presents itself: I could believe that James is an okay bloke, and try this whole friends thing. I mean, it can't hurt, can it? Friends don't bully each other. Friends don't pull mean pranks on each other. Friends don't lewdly ask each other out. Friends are…nice. And the more I think on it, the more I decide that being friends with James Potter is somewhat…appealing. And so I say,

"Yes, it appears that they have."

"I'm glad you approve," James chuckles, and now he's back to his old self—no more intense stares and deep, hazel eyes for me today. He jumps to his feet and offers me his hand. "Now, as my first act as Lily Evans' friend, I have to help you learn to duel. So get up, come on, we've had enough of a break. Same thing as before."

I stand up, this time accepting James' help, and I can't help but notice, however briefly, how well my hand fits into his.

* * *

**A/N:** Hey, guys! Happy New Year! 2011 baby! I'm so pumped. How was your New Years? Let me know when you drop me a review :) Thanks to Niamh Cullen, Bri, Average Penguin, Bah Malfoy Black (thanks to you in particular! your review was wonderful!), Queen lover, Ally, ilovemybestfriends, and Lana De Luca for their AWESOME reviews! You guys are lovely. I try to respond to all the reviews I get via private message, but sometimes I forget who I've responded to and who I haven't! If I'm not responding to you, please remind me so I can!

Also, just a general note about the story: A lot of you guys have asked me how things are going to work when "Melina" goes to Hogwarts (what House she will be in, ect), and I just want to clarify that. When "Melina" goes back to Hogwarts, she will be in Ravenclaw House, and all her records have been changed to indicate that she has always been a Ravenclaw. I feel that this chapter explains this pretty well...sorry for the confusion. However, this story is going to take place over the summer, and end before the gang heads back for their sixth year. I'm undecided as to whether I will write a sequel.

Anyways, thanks for reading! Love you all!

Love,

Dem


	5. Clearing

**A/N:** Long time, no see, guys! Sorry about the long wait...things have been ca-razy over on my end and I had to focus on school for a bit. But I worked on chapter 5 whenever I could, and here is the result! You don't know how amazed I was to log on to fanfiction and find 16 reviews for the last chapter! WOW. You guys...are amazing. I'll quit babbling...here's your chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 5: Clearing**

Mr. Potter did not return home for several days, during which James and I practiced dueling for hours on end. Once James had deemed me sufficient at dodging spells, we switched roles: now it was my job to hit James with red sparks as he tried to dodge them. I wondered why we hadn't started off with this, because attacking was loads easier than dodging, at least for me. Not to say that I hit James with every spell I threw, but I was definitely on target at least half the time. Granted, most of these hits came towards the end of each round, when James was the most tired, but hey, a hit's a hit.

"Good aim," gasped James after one of our more strenuous rounds of dueling. I had hit him square in the chest with red sparks, and he was lying face-up on the pitch, breathing hard. "Damn, it's hot out," he complained, taking off his glasses so he could wipe sweat from his forehead.

"Don't be such a baby," I said teasingly, flopping down beside him, equally exhausted. "How did you get so good at this?"

"Was that a compliment?" he asked, smirking.

"Is that the reaction I'm going to get every time I say something nice to you? Because if so, I might have to take it back."

"No, no, there's no need for that," said James hastily. He ran his hand through his already tousled hair and waited until his breathing had steadied before continuing. "My dad and I have always practiced dueling. What with him being an Auror and all, he thought it would be good for me to have practice defending myself."

"That's a bit odd," I told him, but James just shrugged.

"Some dads play catch with their kids, and we duel. It's more or less the same thing. This is much more practical than playing stupid catch, anyways."

"I thought you hated practicality," I countered. I wasn't sure right then why I was challenging him, but now that I think back on it, I think it was for the thrill of the argument. Ever since I stole that book in Diagon Alley, I've been looking for that rush of adrenaline again. I was hooked. Yelling at James while we were dueling definitely helped, and I suppose I was trying to start another argument so I could feel those chemicals shooting through my brain again. Little did I know, this was not something I would have to force and by the end of the day, I would have been in the middle of two shouting matches. But I'm getting ahead of myself. At this point in the story, I was being charmed by James Potter.

"I don't _hate_ practicality. I just think there is a time and a place for it."

I have to say, I was rather impressed with that answer. It was eloquent, well-phrased, and not to mention mature. Wow, "James Potter" and "mature" in the same sentence? I'm shocked the earth didn't split down to its core.

"For instance," James continued, interrupting my witty internal monologue. "I think now would be a good time for some impracticality."

"Now? But we're supposed to be practicing!"

"Lily, we've been at this all morning, and you're coming along nicely. Come on, let's go do something _fun_."

James hopped up, a grin that I knew only too well plastered to his face.

"James," I groaned, covering my face with my hands so my words came out muffled. "Come on, I'm so sore. If we're not going to practice, can we at least rest?"

"Don't be such a baby," James echoed tauntingly. "Let's get out of here."

"What?"

James grabbed my wrist and dragged me off the Quidditch pitch, refusing to answer any of my questions.

"James, where are you taking me?" I asked, half laughing, half exasperated. It was a familiar mix of emotions. Lately I seemed to be spending all my time being amused and frustrated with this crazy boy. And honestly, I wasn't hating it.

James led me down the grounds and through the courtyard, and then through the Potter's gate. We went down a dirt road for a few hundred yards, and just as I was wondering whether James was leading me off a cliff or something equally ridiculous, a quaint little village came into view, and I began to feel a little relieved.

"Is that where we're going?" I asked, pointing ahead.

"Nope," James replied, his eyes twinkling. "I'm not that predictable."

Predictable, he was not. Instead of leading me into the village, he led me down the opposite fork in the road…which quickly stopped being a road at all.

"James…this is a ravine," I tell him obviously.

"Be patient," said James, and he said it in that condescending way that I hate so much, as if he's talking _down_ to me. That wave of anger reminded me all the things I despised about him, and for a moment, I debated whether or not I was going to yell at him. I couldn't believe I was actually considering being friends with this arrogant prick. But then, I looked at the whole picture. This was an over-reaction. I was reminded of what James said that day in Diagon Alley: "Why do you insist on nitpicking every aspect of my personality?" James, as arrogant as he came off, was just trying to show me a good time, and that is not something I should be upset about. So I swallowed my annoyance, and followed James through the ravine.

We reached a creek, and James began to walk across a fallen log. He offered his hand to me, but I smirked and refused it. I may not be the most physical gal, but I can walk across a log without the help of _big, manly, _James Potter.

"It's not much farther," James tells me over his shoulder, lifting some branches for me to walk under. After brushing a few fallen leaves out of my hair and looking up, however, I realized how close we were.

We had reached a clearing, but it wasn't just any clearing: it was breathtaking. Prematurely colored leaves littered the ground, and the noontime sun shone perfectly through the trees. There were two tree stumps across from each other, and James motioned for me to sit down.

"What _is_ this place?" I asked him, completely wowed. James grinned, ear-to-ear.

"I found it about a year ago," James told me. "And I come here sometimes, just to, you know, get away from it all."

"That sounds nice," I said, absent-mindedly kicking up some leaves. "It must be good to have a place to just escape." Though as I said it, I wondered: what could spoiled, cocky, James Potter have to escape from? Maybe that was why he brought me here—to show me that he was deeper than his perfect appearance.

"Yeah, it is," said James, running his hand through his hair, and before I could ask him about his deep thoughts, he continued: "I thought you might like it here, because, I mean, I know all this isn't easy for you. And maybe if you ever need to be alone, you can come here."

I was shocked by the thoughtfulness of this gesture, and I'm sure I sat there with my mouth hanging open for a solid few seconds.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I asked him in almost a whisper, once I found my voice. James scooted forward on his stump, closer to me, and his eyes pierced mine.

"Because," James said in a low voice. He reached up to brush a leaf out of my hair, but after the leaf was gone, he didn't remove his hand. I felt my breath catch in my throat. "I'm in love with you, Lily Evans."

I stood up abruptly, my heart pounding. Of course. He wasn't trying to be my friend; all this kindness he was showing me was just an act to get me to be one of his six thousand ex-girlfriends. How could I have been so stupid?

"Potter, you are unbelievable," I said darkly, and I turned on my heel and walked away from him, never mind the fact that I had no idea where I was going.

"Wait…Lily, what's wrong?" he put a hand on my shoulder, but I shook it off, because every time he touched me, it made my heart rate swell, and I just got angrier.

"That's _Melina_ to you," I told him, poking him hard in the chest. "And just because we live in the same house now doesn't change a thing about us. _You_ just proved that—"

"Lily—"

"—you are just as arrogant and horrid at home as you are at school—"

"—why are you so—"

"No, why are _you_ so infuriating? Why don't you understand that no means no?"

"I understand—"

"_No,_ you don't!" I stop walking and round on him, and I'm sure my face is nearly as red as my hair used to be. "You're just…just a spoiled little boy who isn't used to getting what he wants! And I was an idiot to think you had _changed_. I can't believe I nearly fell—"

I faltered, and Potter's expression has changed from hurt to hopefulness.

"—fell for _it_," I said, correcting myself. "Face it, Potter, you're just an act. You're never going to mean anything to anybody if you make a game out of messing with their feelings!"

I knew my words were harsh, and that was the way I liked them. I felt as though I had lost a friend—which, in fact, I had. A potential friend, at least. I liked James as this nice boy who was fun and funny and thoughtful and interesting and unlike anybody else I knew, and he had just gone and ruined that by showing me that he's still the same prick he's always been. He was still just Potter. Stupid, arse-hole Potter who I don't care about, not one bit. And as I thought this, I shocked myself by having to fight back tears.

For once, Potter doesn't really have anything to say.

"I suppose we'd better go home then," he said stiffly.

"Yes," I replied, and we said nothing more the whole trek back home. When we reached the gate, Potter held it open for me, but let it slam behind me, and the _clang_ was rather unsettling. We walked into the house, still not speaking.

"_Where_ have you been?"

Potter and I spun around. Mr. Potter was standing in the foyer, looking livid.

"We went down to the village," said Potter gruffly. "'S not a crime, is it?"

"It might as well be!" Mr. Potter shouted. I cringed. "Does Melina's safety mean nothing to you? How could you be so stupid?"

"What? Do you expect Death Eaters to pop out of a bush and attack us?" James said exasperatedly.

"That's _exactly _what we're trying to prevent! You _knew_ that Melina wasn't allowed off the property! The protective enchantments are only active inside the grounds! You just put both of yourselves in grave danger! You're lucky you didn't get killed!"

"We're _fine_, dad," Potter grumbled, though I certainly felt a far sight less-than-fine myself, and I was sure Potter felt similarly. "Besides, mum let us walk around Diagon Alley by ourselves; how is this any different?"

"She did _what?_" Mr. Potter shouted, and honestly, I was a bit scared. I thought he might explode or something. My parents never yelled at me like this, and it made me miss them even more. "Francis! Francis, come on here!"

Mrs. Potter came bustling into the foyer, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Victor, _what_ is the meaning of all this racket?" she demanded. "The House Elves are hiding in the cupboards!"

"Our son just told me that you allowed James and Melina to run amok in Diagon Alley," said Mr. Potter darkly. "Is this true?"

"Well—" Mrs. Potter looked between the two of us. "Yes, so what of it?"

"How could you let them do that?" Mr. Potter demanded. "Did you not think of the consequences?"

"For Merlin's sake, Victor, they're sixteen years old! It was a public place. Do you really expect Voldemort to attack them in a _bookshop_?" Mrs. Potter said incredulously.

"You know enough to know that there isn't anything he won't do anymore!" Mr. Potter yelled, throwing his hands in the air, and for the first time, I heard a hint of fear in his voice. "I thought the rules were perfectly clear to all of you. Melina has been given Category I security status! She is not to leave the property! Taking her to Diagon Alley at all was a mistake, let alone letting her go off by herself!"

"I was with her the whole time," Potter added. "They wouldn't dare attack with me with her—"

"James Potter, you are smarter than that! Where Muggle-borns are concerned, your pureblood status can't protect you! Voldemort doesn't know Melina's identity yet, but when he finds out—yes, _when_—we will no longer be in a position of power or influence! Blood traitors, that's what we are, and that's no better than Muggle-born in his book. Voldemort wouldn't hesitate to kill you on the spot."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, dad," grumbled Potter, but if he thought this would calm his father down, he was sorely mistaken. If anything, it only angered Mr. Potter more.

"No, you don't 'get it,' James," Mr. Potter snapped. "If you got it, you would have never done it. You're so compulsive, never thinking of consequences, and only thinking of yourself. You're sixteen years old, and it's high time you grew up!"

Potter looked furious, but said nothing. I stood next to him, praying that Mr. Potter wouldn't yell at me next, and thankfully, he didn't. It seemed as though he was only angry at James, which made me feel better. After forbidding us to go outside the Potter's property ever again and grounding both of us for a week (as if I have anywhere to go), Mr. Potter Apparated back to work.

Neither Mrs. Potter nor Potter had anything to say, and after an awkward moment, Mrs. Potter went back to the sitting room, and Potter ascended the stairs to his room. I winced as I heard the door slam.

And where does that leave me? Now, I'm sitting in the library, and even though there's a book open in front of me, I'm not really reading. This house has been completely silent all day. The events of the day keep playing over in my mind like a broken record, and I'm filled with such a mix of emotions that I don't know which I should begin to feel first.

* * *

The next few days pass in a tense blur. My dueling lessons continue, but they no longer involve Potter. Now, it's just Mr. Potter and I out on the Quidditch pitch for hours at a time, whenever he can get off work. I'm learning loads, but somehow, dueling seems less fun with Mr. Potter than it did with James. I mean, Potter. I feel really awkward around Mr. Potter after he yelled at Potter and I like that, and even though he's been really nice to me since, we don't speak during our practice sessions.

After my third week with the Potters, I have progressed so far in my dueling that I am now starting to use real spells instead of just red sparks. Mr. Potter and I don't actually shoot curses at each other—that could get ugly. Instead, Mr. Potter brought home these "safety wands" for us to practice with. All they do is shoot sparks and block, even if you actually shout a curse. Aurors use them during their training, apparently. He says it will help me think on my feet, because as I quickly learned, reeling off spells in class is a lot different than thinking them up in the heat of battle.

Mr. Potter is fairly impressed with my knowledge of dueling spells—I suppose being a Charms nerd has its merits—but he says I still need to do a lot of research.

"It's an unfair match," Mr. Potter told me, looking everywhere but at me. "At sixteen, you need to be good enough to best people twice your age and who's magical knowledge most of us could only dream of. You need to go above and beyond what would normally be expected of you, and become what would be expected of an Auror if you are to properly defend yourself."

But no pressure, of course.

Oh, who am I kidding. There's no one under as much pressure as I am these days. As a result, I spend almost all my time scouring the Potter's library for new spells I can use in dueling, and any counter jinxes to undo what my opponents do to me. I burned through _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6_ and _Grade 7_ in one afternoon, and quickly moved onto different books. Mr. Potter encouraged me to find obscure spells so I could more easily catch my opponent off guard. The broader my knowledge was, the better-equipped I would be to handle anything that came my way. The Potters let me practice my new spells on the Quidditch pitch with my real wand, not the safety wand, and a life-size dummy Mr. Potter brought home from work.

I threw myself into dueling like I used to throw myself into studying. It was such an excellent distraction; when I duel, the only thing on my mind is what my next move will be. I don't have to think about Voldemort or the imminent danger I am in. I don't need to feel bad for inconveniencing everybody in my life because my blood status makes me a liability. And I don't have to think about Potter.

I leave all my serious thinking for the shower, as usual.

As I turn the nozzle to the coldest setting, I ponder my priorities. My life is in danger. The darkest wizard since Grindelwald is out to get me. And the only thing on my mind is how I can't decide how I feel about James Potter. I'm absolutely pathetic.

But seriously, what the heck is going on with us?

Everything used to be so simple: I was the Prefect, the upholder of the rules, and he was the one trying to break as many as possible. I lived in the library**, **and didn't open a book until well into his fourth year. I am passionate about learning, and he is more concerned with hexing his daily quota of Slytherins before lunchtime. I love the peace and quiet, and he likes to make as much of a ruckus as he possibly can. I over-think everything, and he jumps from impulse to whim, acting on everything he thinks up without worrying about consequences. So what changed?

I came to live with him, that's what. And I have to spend nearly every moment in his presence. And I'm afraid I started to see him differently. Away from his friends, away from tempting Slytherins, he is…dare I say it?..._nice_. He has shown himself to be thoughtful and kind, two words I have never before associated with that boy. I mean, he's still got that horrid conceited streak, but sometimes, it strikes me more as endearing than repulsive. It's like he doesn't even realize he's conceited. It's like he's only trying to impress…someone.

Now, I'm starting to see what all those other girls saw him him—how easy he is to talk to, his charm, and (dare I say it?) his looks—and that scares the _crap_ out of me. _Why_ did he have to say that he was in love with me? Why did he have to ruin our friendship? Granted, our friendship only lasted about two weeks, but what we had going was good. It was so much better than constantly being at loggerheads. And he just went and ruined it because all he wants from me is to get into my pants.

Here's the deal: I'm a good girl, and James Potter knows this. He's trying to play me. That's all this is, and I'm not going to fall for it. As much as I liked our friendship, it's clear now that it was just an illusion and now things can go back to their natural order. I detest James Potter. That's just how it is.

* * *

Potter and I are still not on speaking terms. There is a mutual, unspoken understanding between us, stating that we never speak about what happened in the forest. We never told Mr. Potter that we had stopped practicing—instead, I practice on my own. It's a lot harder to learn how to duel with only the theory to guide me, but I would rather learn on my own than face Potter. Besides, Mr. Potter has been pleased with my progress. I see no reason why our little conversation in the clearing is any of his business at all.

A week after my blowup with Potter, Remus and Black came around again. Merlin, I miss my friends. Seeing Black and Remus here all the time, having fun with Potter, just makes me jealous, angry, and sad. Huh. Never thought I'd be jealous of anyone who had to spend time with Sirius Black…I swear that boy lives to make my life difficult. Why _else_ would someone set off dungbombs in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom? I mean, no one ever goes in there for one, and for another, it's not even clever or _funny. _Seriously. Dungbombs got old like five minutes into first year. All they do is make a mess, and guess who has to clean it up? Prefects, that's who. And by "Prefects," I mean me. Remus only helps sometimes because of course he is behind half the stuff that goes down, McMillan is so thick I'm shocked that he can manage to get his food from the fork to his mouth, Diggory is too self-obsessed to consider helping someone else, and the idea of Nott or Avery doing anything except being really frightening is laughable.

Anyways.

Right now I'm in the library, researching some new hexes to use. I can hardly believe how many books I've been through. I've already read the more "conventional" spellbooks, if you will, so the books I'm reading now are a little more…malicious. This is the kind of stuff one would find in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. I've only been in thee once-with permission, of course. I wanted to research higher level potions for my N.E.W.T practice exams and Slughorn wrote me a note and everything. It's hard to imagine anyone but Dark wizards wanting to use these spells, but I suppose that as an Auror or someone who is in danger of being under attack needs to know what they're up against. I run my hand down the page, wincing at particularly nasty spells, hoping that I won't ever have to use them. Taking notes on them is bad enough...the gruesome and detailed diagrams are making my stomach churn.

I find my gaze drifting out the window periodically, where the boys are playing Quidditch on the Potter's field again. Really, don't they ever get sick of that stupid sport? They really are very distracting. I know I should close the curtains so I can focus on my studies, but it's such a nice day, and the only thing worse than being cooped up in the house on a nice day is being cooped up in the house in the dark on a nice day. Also, it's a nice distraction from the visions of gore printed on the page. Honestly, if I keep going at this rate, I'm going to have nightmares. Look at them. Laughing and throwing that ridiculous ball around the pitch. Watching them interact makes me miss my friends. God, I'm jealous of James. He doesn't know how good he has it. He has everything; a nice house, a nice family, and friends he can see every day. He doesn't have to lie to people about who he is. He doesn't have to pretend to be a pureblood, because he is one, and he never has to live in fear of being attacked. Is it stupid that of all the things I could be jealous of, I'm jealous of the fact that he can see his friends every day? I mean, I need to put everything in perspective. Not seeing friends for a bit is hardly a large price to pay for my own life...but the more I tell myself these things, the less I believe myself.

For the first time, I let myself feel everything I've been suppressing about my friends. Mary and Em are my best friends, my roommates, my family at Hogwarts. They are two of the only people I truly trust, but they can't ever be my friend again. At least, that's the way it looks. They're friends with Lily, not Melina, and Lily is gone. I'm going to have to re-build those friendships, and that's not something I want to do because they will never be the same. We're going to lose all our inside jokes. And once I'm in Ravenclaw, I'll barely see them anymore. We're going to drift apart. They're going to assume that I've gone into hiding with my parents, like all the other Muggle-borns, and I can never tell them that I'm right across the castle. I'll have to make fake friendships with the Ravenclaws, who already are friends with each other, and so it's not like there will be any room for me.

And then without warning, I'm crying again, and the little figures of torture victims on the page I've been reading scurry off into the binding of the book, away from where my tears are falling. I hate this. I truly hate this. I would rather not be in hiding at all than have to deal with all this. The stupid Ministry is ripping away everything I love and assuming that I can just adjust. Well, it's not as easy as that. We're talking about my whole _life_ here. No one can start from scratch like this.

Who are they to forbid me from telling my friends, anyways? I would trust Mary and Em with my life. Why can't I tell them what's going on? I swear, I'll go crazy if I don't. Like I said, no one can live like this. I have to talk to someone about everything that's going on in my head, and by someone, I don't mean Mrs. Potter or a House-Elf. I mean a friend. A best friend. Someone who knows everything about you and listens to your problems even where they're annoyed, and laughs at you when you're stupid and tells you when you're out of line. That's what I need. I need Mary.

Without thinking, acting, for once, on impulse, I flip the parchment I've been taking notes on over and being to scrawl a letter. My handwriting is messy and barely legible, but I'm sure Mary will be able to decipher it. Everything pours out of me on to the page, and it is easy. I tell her about my lost parents and my new life, how terrified I am, how Potter is being more infuriating than usual by being nice to me half the time and ridiculously stupid the other half. I tell her how I have to change everything about myself, and that I'm not Lily anymore. I'm Melina, and I'm not sure if I like her or not. I tell her about how I'm developing multiple personality disorder. I tell her about how I am slowly going crazy in the Potter Manor. And I tell her how scared I am that someone is going to find me. It's something I've been waiting to do for three weeks. I need this.

The letter ends up being about half a roll of parchment, and I seal it and head to the kitchen, were the Potter's owl is sitting on its perch, picking at some food. I scribble Mary's address on the outside of the letter, and tie it to the owl.

"Hurry back," I tell him. "I don't want the Potters to notice you're gone." The owl hoots, which I take to mean it understands, and he hops off his perch and out the window. As I watched the owl fly away, I felt everything from the tears hardening on my face to a churning in the pit of my stomach to adrenaline coursing through my veins, and I can't decide whether or not I like it.

* * *

**A/N: **And there you have it! Chapter 5! I hope you enjoyed it. I want to thank .wolves, ilovemybestfriends, Coolgo, Just-As-Loony-As-Luna, Molly Raesly, Bah Malfoy Black, AnonymousMaurader (ESPECIALLY you. That was the kindest review I've ever gotten!), When you notice the Stripes, PinkCamellia, arelli-black, Lally Sads, xLycheeRAiN, LunaInTheSky, bri/Brittany/britt (pretty sure you are all the same person haha), dare, tessa, and Sally Ride! I think it's really amazing how many international readers I have! You guys are all amazing. Please review and let me know what you think!


	6. Distinctions

**Chapter Six: Distinctions**

This morning, I wake up to a new sound: the shower. Mr. Potter must have come home late last night—he's been gone on Ministry business for about three days. It's just past seven, a reasonable hour, so I hop out of bed, yawning slightly, and look out the window. What a beautiful morning. Sunlight streams through the glass, and my world seems a little brighter than it did yesterday…until I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Oh God, I look like Moaning Myrtle, minus the glasses and translucent skin. I start to pick through the clothes on my floor for something clean enough to wear (I really need to do some laundry) before giving up and deciding to just wear my pajamas all day. Sensing that it is beyond all hope, I put my dark hair into a ponytail and survey my appearance again. Eh. It's not like I have anyone to impress. Deeming myself acceptable, I make my way downstairs, where the smell of ham and eggs tell me that breakfast is ready. A little plate is set out for me, and I eat by myself, assuming Mrs. Potter had to go into work early, as she does sometimes. As I eat my delicious breakfast, I can't help but think that no matter how nuts my life is, I have sunk into a comfortable routine here.

"Lily?"

Unfortunately, that routine also includes a certain narcissistic, misogynistic, egotistic, antagonistic, moronic idiot whose name begins with "James" and ends with "Potter." And trust me, that list would have gone on longer if I could have thought of any more words that ended with, "ic." I want to say something scathing and clever, but my mouth was full of ham, so I settle for a stony silence and give him my best Prefect glare before returning to my breakfast. What is he doing up so early? Way to ruin a perfectly good morning, Potter.

"Okay, I get it," he says, sitting down across from me. "You don't have to talk to me, but can't you just listen?"

No, I can't "just listen." I shoot him another glare, pick up my plate, and stalk out of the room. Thankfully, he doesn't follow me, but my mood has already been soured. I decide to finish my breakfast outside, where I have less of a chance of seeing Potter.

My breakfast is pretty much done within two minutes of being outside, so I am forced to carry my plate around as I take a walk. I probably look pretty stupid, with my messy hair, pajamas, and lack of shoes, holding a plate, but whatever. It's not like anyone can see me. I try to let the nice day improve my mood, but it's hard to think of flowers and sunshine when that bloody boy won't leave me alone. Hell, even when he _does_ leave me alone, he's always on my mind. His lack of presence is presence enough. Merlin, I sound like a crazy person…

"Sound like?" scratch that. I am a crazy person. Only a crazy person would walk around in her pajamas with no shoes on holding a ceramic plate while obsessing over James Potter. _Obsessing over James Potter_. I'm _obsessing_ over _James Potter_. You might as well call me peanut butter and slam me between to crackers, because I've gone completely nutters.

How can anyone live in close proximity with Potter and not go insane? The boy is a walking head game. Every conversation with him completely changes my opinion of the boy. He is the only person in the world who can go from egocentric to charming to caring and then back to asshole in under a minute, and I hate it. He is constantly throwing me for a loop, a chameleon of emotions, keeping me permanently on my toes. I feel like I have to be on my guard all the time, because if I let it down for one second, I'm terrified that I'll fall for him.

No. No, subconscious, you must have misheard me: I didn't say, "fall for _him_," I said, "fall for _it._" The "it," of course, is in reference to…something. Something…bad. Because James Potter is bad. "It" is obviously his…his…his act. Yes, yes that's right. Nice James is all an act. If I let my guard down, I'll fall for his _act_ and then I'll…be his friend. And he will manipulate me, because he manipulates people to get what he wants. Because he's selfish. And mean. Yes, that sounds nice and convincing, doesn't it? Of course it does. Because it is. I, for one, am convinced. I don't want to fall for him. I mean, it. Because I'm not falling for him. Because that would be crazy, and I'm not crazy. I just…talk to myself and don't get dressed and carry plates around with me. I'm _not_ crazy. I'm just completely nutters.

I walk around the Potter's grounds for a while, pondering my new status as a mental case. In the four weeks or so I've been here, I haven't explored the outdoors. Needless to say, it's as beautiful and perfectly cared for as the rest of the house. The lawn looks as if it's been trimmed by the House Elves with nail clippers. It kind of resembles the Hogwarts grounds; there are greenhouses and everything! I decide to go in and take a look. Should be a bit of a distraction from…other unseemly things.

I know better than to touch plants that I've never seen before, so I keep my hands to myself. Professor Sprout would be so proud. I'm so engrossed in the plants that I don't hear the footsteps creeping up behind me.

"Melina?"

I turn around, expecting to see James, but no. It's Black. Sirius Black. I look blankly at him, debating whether or not to ignore him like I've been ignoring James, but part of me is a little curious as to what he has to say.

"Melina? That's your name, right?"

Always the charmer. Well, he can't even keep track of all his girlfriends, so I can't really expect him to keep track of me. At least he got my name right this time.

"Yeah," I say, sounding rather nonchalant, if I do say so myself. "And you are…?"

I might as well play along a bit.

"Sirius Black," he says smoothly, extending a hand to shake. "I don't know how we haven't been formally introduced yet, with you being James' sister and all."

"Well, I'm in Ravenclaw," I tell him. This lying is getting easier; I don't even feel guilty for it anymore. That worries me a bit, but I push it to the back of my mind. In this case, the ends justify the means. "And I don't care for Quidditch, so I guess we've never really been in the same place at the same time."

He seems to accept this excuse, thankfully, and I decide to change the subject before I talk too much and get in real trouble.

"What are you doing here? I didn't know you were coming over today."

"Me neither; I just popped over to Moony's and we thought we'd drop in."

Moony. That's Remus. What stupid nicknames.

"Well, as you can see, Pot—_James_ isn't here, so—"

"Actually, I'm looking for you," says Sirius, to my surprise. He casually pushes a plant backwards to make room for him on the table, to the plant's dismay. It snarls at him, but he takes no notice and sits on the table. "Have a seat."

Slightly confused about being invited to sit in my own house, I nevertheless look at the table where all the plants are crowded. I'm not as bold as Sirius, so I nervously pick apart the plants to make myself a spot and gingerly climb onto the table, flinching as a venomous tentactula lashed out at me.

"Careful," Black says, laughing a bit. "Don't touch plants you aren't familiar with."

"Excuse me, but I know that," I snap, annoyed. I don't like my intelligence demeaned. "And I know what a venomous tentactula is."

"Hey, calm down," says Sirius, holding his hands up as if in surrender. "Just trying to help."

Remembering that Melina and Sirius don't know each other, and therefore can't hate each other (yet), I decide to back off.

"Right. Sorry." Awkward silence. Well then. "Uh, so why were you looking for me?"

"We need to have a little talk. Mano a mano. Man to man. Well, man to _wo_man, but same difference."

"'Mano a mano,'" I repeat, slightly amused. "Got it."

"So here's the thing," says Sirius. "What is the deal with James?"

"Huh?"

"He's such a buzz kill lately," Sirius continues. "Doesn't even want to play Quidditch. Doesn't wanna do _anything_. Well, he does stuff, but not the same way he usually does it, and it's seriously cramping my style."

"No idea," I say automatically, because I have an inkling as to what this might be about, and I don't really want to talk about it. "_You're_ his best friend, he's _your_ problem."

"But _you're _his sister. _You_ live with him. You're supposed to be pesky and know everything. Read his diary, send fake love notes to ugly girls, put plastic wrap on the toilet seat…you know the drill."

"It's not like he talks to me," I reply, which is partly true. Wait, did he say diary? Ha, what I wouldn't give to get a hold of _that_. "Best friend trumps sister."

"You know everything about him! You can't live with someone and not know everything about them."

"You practically live here," I point out.

"Okay, it doesn't matter who trumps who," says Sirius, clearly frustrated. "Point is, you're around him all the time, so you have to know if _something's_ up. What is going on? He's driving me insane."

Nice. Potter is upset and Sirius is upset because he's killing his buzz. And to think I was _this close_ to giving him an ounce of respect. Very typical.

"Maybe he's just in a mood," I say, completely guessing about what to say. I quickly flip through my "James Potter" file in my brain, trying to think up convincing lies.

"Yeah, that much is obvious, but _why_?" I can tell he's getting impatient. Maybe if I'm infuriating enough, he'll leave me alone.

"I don't know. He's seemed fine at breakfast." Of course, this is a complete lie, but it slips out anyways. "Like I said, we don't really talk."

Sirius huffs and runs his hand through his hair. Is _that_ where James got that infuriating habit? I could kill him.

"Is this about Evans again?"

"Evans?" I say slowly, pretending to draw a blank, but really, my heart has done an obnoxious skip. "L-lily Evans? The Prefect?"

"The very same," replies Sirius darkly. "Is he still hung up on that?"

"What do you mean, 'hung up on that?'" I ask, probably a little too quickly. Sirius looks at me like I'm an idiot.

"You really are stupid, aren't you," he says, looking marveled. "And you're supposed to be a Ravenclaw…he's been head over heels since fourth year, and trust me, I've tried to snap him out of it, but he's holding strong. I thought he was done with all that, but…"

"Whoa, okay, let's get something straight," I tell him, standing up. "P—James never really liked Lily. He just is after the chase, because she won't fall into his arms like every other moron in the school. You know just as well as I do that he just wants me because he can't have me, and I'm not going to fall for it, even though—"

"Wait, wait," Sirius interrupts me. "He wants _you_? What are you talking about?"

"Lily," I correct myself, and I feel my ears going red. I shake my hair to cover them better. "I said Lily."

"You definitely said 'me.' You said, 'he just wants _me_ because he knows he can't have _me_…'"

"I said 'Lily,'" I insist resolutely. "I have to go. It's been a pleasure."

I stalk out of the greenhouse as fast as I can without looking stupid, with the connotations of what I just told Sirius racing through my head.

* * *

Stupid Black. Stupid Potter. Stupid me. Stupid everyone and everything. I hope Mary writes back soon, because I'm getting sick of living in my head. I need to talk to someone. Anyone. Because this isolation is how people go insane.

Of course, as usual, I have spoken too soon.

"Lily!"

About an hour after my conversation with Black, I see Potter traipsing through the walkway, making a beeline towards me. I know I can't outrun him, no matter how much I want to, so I stand my ground, but I put on my most unapproachable face. Hopefully, he'll take the hint.

"Are you going to run away this time?" he says, eyes narrowed.

"Go away," I tell him. Wow, I'm clever.

"I live here. You're the one who doesn't."

Ouch. I cross my arms and square my shoulders. It's on.

"If you're just here to apologize, I don't want to hear—"

"Apologize?" exclaims Potter, and for once, he seems at a loss for words. "You—you're so conceited!"

Oh, that's rich.

"_Me?_ _You_ are calling _me_ conceited?" I say in disbelief. "You really are full of it, aren't you."

"That's just it!" Potter yells. "You're so damn conceited you don't even _know_ you're conceited! You just _expect_ me to apologize to you, over and over again because you assume that I am always in the wrong! You have this superiority complex and you're always talking down to me, but we know it's only because you know I'm just as smart as you and you're scared that I'm going to graduate top of our class, not you—"

"I never called you stupid," I interrupt loudly. Sure, maybe I've knocked him a few times, but it's only because he needs to be knocked off his pedestal every so often or his ego will explode.

"It doesn't matter what you called me, it matters what you think. And you think you're better than me. You think you're better than everyone. Just because perfect, spoiled little Lily is always being told how well she is doing, how smart she is, how good she is at everything!"

"I'm _not_ spoiled! You don't know me at all!" I can feel tears stinging my eyes, but I will not give Potter the satisfaction of watching them stream down my face.

"Ah, but I do," Potter continues, stepping up to me with a wry smile tugging at his lips. "I do. I've lived with you since we were eleven, and now you're living in my house. I know how you operate. Only spoiled little girls freak out every time something doesn't go their way!"

"Just because I like to plan things out doesn't make me spoiled! And I _don't_ freak out!"

"Oh really? Then what's this right now?" Potter gestures to the empty space between us. "You thought I was going to apologize to you, and when I started calling you out on your shit instead, you flipped out. This didn't go the way you wanted it to, and you can't handle it."

"Anyone would get a _little angry_ if someone started attacking their personality!"

"Well then maybe you know how I feel!" Potter roars, louder than ever. The sound of him yelling is enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Maybe now that you know how it feels to have someone constantly telling you that you're stupid and that you're doing everything wrong, or that you're disgusting and arrogant and a pig, you'll think twice!"

"That's not fair," I say, and no matter how much I want my voice not to crack, it still comes out small and pathetic. "You're not exactly peaches and cream to me, either!"

"That's right, it's a two-way street," Potter agrees, "but you can't go round thinking you've taken the high road when you're really just as bad as everyone else. And I think we both know that I've never insulted you."

I draw myself up to full height, not even thinking about the words as they roll out of my mouth. I don't have to think, because my adrenaline is thinking for me. Every word of resentment between us is spilling out, and that's how it's going to be.

"What about, 'Perfect Little Priss?' Or, 'Princess?' Or, 'Teacher's Pet?' I suppose those were just terms of endearment!"

"No, but that's the way you want everyone to see you: perfect. And that's the difference between you and me. I know I'm not perfect, and I'm trying to change. You, on the other hand, don't have a clue. You're the one who wanted me to grow up, and now that I have, I can see that you have the maturity of a thirteen-year-old."

I mouth wordlessly at him. It's the opposite of a few minutes before; now _I'm _the one who can't speak.

"Oh, and I'm not going to apologize, because I was just being honest. I was trying to be nice. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Potter stalks away without turning his head once. I wait until he's out of earshot before turning around and smashing the plate I've been holding on a nearby rock. As it shatters into a million pieces, I feel the tears rolling down my face, and realize that James Potter now has the distinction of being the only boy to ever make me cry.

* * *

For the first time since my first night here, the whole family is present at dinner. However, it is still a quiet and tense affair. I'm sure some House Elves heard us screaming in the garden, but I don't know if Mr. and Mrs. Potter know what's up with Potter and I. They are unreadable as they discuss the days' news.

Mrs. Potter has stopped subscribing to the Daily Prophet, preferring instead to hear the unfiltered story from Mr. Potter, firsthand. He's so deeply involved in the hunt for Dark wizards that he knows everything before the morning news comes out, anyways. Hunched over his soup with red eyes nearly leaking with exhaustion, Mr. Potter describes the events of the past week.

"—some nasty Muggle suicides out in Elephant and Castle. All evidence points to the Imperious Curse, but we'll have a hell of a job proving it…"

"What evidence could be so hard to prove?"

"The Muggles were all relatives of people who have defied He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Mr. Potter explains grimly. "But it looks like the Muggle government has been infiltrated, because the prime minister is refusing to even acknowledge the new death toll…"

He often speaks like that, trailing off at the end of upsetting sentences. It's like he can't bear to speak of such things, like there isn't enough emotion in him to do them justice. I can't imagine what it must be like, putting yourself on the line every day to prevent more killings and corruption and to have people dying left and right anyways.

They discuss a few Muggle-born murders and a suspicious case of owls apprehended in midair, while I halfheartedly listen. I spend the majority of dinner glancing—no, glaring—at Potter. Glaring at his long fingers twisted around his fork as he eats his potatoes, his thick eyebrows furrowed and his deep, dark eyes narrowed and trained firmly on the table. I observe the slight curvature of his spine as he bends his long torso to be closer to the table to more comfortably eat, and the hunch in his unusually tense shoulders. He looks remarkably like his father in this position, although they are burdened with much different problems. His eyes snap up to meet mine, and fight my instinct to avert my gaze. With my eyes I try to convey to Potter that I'm not weak, I'm not little, and I'm not spoiled. Unfortunately, I don't know exactly how convincing I am, and look down at the table again.

"May I be excused?"

We ask this at exactly the same time, and make eye contact again, and I wonder for the millionth time if we are thinking the same thing. However, I recoil at his gaze and go back to my meal, earning strange looks from my "parents." It is now that I realize we have interrupted their conversation.

"What about dessert?" asks Mrs. Potter. "German chocolate, James, your favorite."

"I'm not that hungry," James and I say at once. Okay, are we like synched up or something? Mr. and Mrs. Potter look slightly amused.

"Is everything okay?" Mr. Potter wants to know.

James and I both hesitate, as though waiting for the other to speak. James finally does. "Yes. Fine. I just wanted to get back to my book. I'm at a really good part."

How does he lie so smoothly? Mr. and Mrs. Potter take this in stride and nod. "Go right ahead," they say. I get up from the table at the same time as James, and they look at me.

"Where are you off to, Melina?" Mrs. Potter asks.

"Oh, I'm just going to…yeah."

I follow James out of the room as awkwardly as possible, and we share a tense ascent up the stairs. I half expect to see James' lip curl at my lack of ability to be convincing, to laugh at me so I can playfully push him and pretend to be offended, and have us be friends again—wait. What? _I'm _mad at _him. _And I _don't _miss his friendship. If you can even call it that. By the time I've finished rationalizing my weird fantasies, we have reached the top of the stairs and there is no more time for reconciliation. We part ways at the door to my room, and I am once again left alone with my thoughts.

* * *

I can't decide what's worse: being alone or being surrounded with people I hate. Surprise, surprise, Sirius and Remus are over again. Even Peter has tagged along for the ride this time. Apparently he's back from his vacation in France or something. I'm jealous; I went to France with my family three summers ago and I have always wanted to go back.

Sirius doesn't seek me out for a private discussion again, which I am thankful for, and Peter seems to accept my appearance with no question. I'm sure a small, muttered Confundus Charm courtesy of Mr. Potter helped a bit, because I saw him carefully conceal his wand in his sleeve as he walked passed Peter on his way outside, but nevertheless, my spontaneous existence goes relatively unnoticed.

I am reading in the kitchen today. I need a change in scenery. In the library with that big window, it's so hard to focus with the boys playing Quidditch. Plus, there is better lighting in here, plus the company of the House Elves, who are more than willing to make me snacks whenever I want them. The kitchen chairs are less comfortable, but I suppose it's a small price to pay for not having to stare at Potter and his stupid friends trying to knock each other off their brooms.

Again, I've spoken too soon.

I hear the front door open, then close, and then the unmistakable sounds of Potter and his friends coming into the kitchen. Potter completely ignores me, though Remus gives me a nod and a smile. Potter sits on the table—the one the House Elves just finished wiping down—and tosses apples to each of his friends, laughing at a stupid joke one of them told.

"Melina," my head snaps up. I can't believe he's speaking to me. "Tell mom we went over to Remus' when she gets home."

I nod and say nothing, going back to my book.

"You can come too," Remus offers, a little eagerly. Sirius and Peter give him incredulous looks, and before I can politely decline, James jumps in.

"She can't," he says flatly. "She doesn't like it when people invite her places."

This time, he looks right at me and glares openly. I know exactly what he's doing and I snap back.

"No, no, I don't mind," I say lightly, not taking my eyes off of James. "As long as it's not a _ravine_, I don't mind being invited anywhere."

Remus, Sirius, and Peter look completely perplexed, but they aren't my concern right now. All that matters now is James and the thrill of this argument.

"Well, she also doesn't like anything that is important to anyone else," James counters. "I think your house would fall under that category." He nods at Remus, but then looks back to me. It's like a crazy staring contest; whoever flinches first is the loser, the weaker, the one who is unjustified in their claims to be a better person.

"Okay," says Sirius, looking from James to me and back as if we're some foreign species. "Is this some weirdo twin thing? Let's go."

"Are you coming?" Remus asks me hopefully.

"No," James and I both reply, and I quickly add, "thanks" and give him a small smile.

"Well, maybe some other time, then," Remus says, and James looks furious. I smile a bit bigger, and looking right at James, reply, "You know what? That sounds _great_. Are you free on Monday?"

"Y-yes," says Remus, looking surprised at my forwardness, and I have to say that I'm surprised to. I've never asked anyone out, let alone in front of three other boys. They just kind of stand there, looking at us, not knowing what to do with themselves. "I'll meet you here at six."

"It's a date," I say, emphasizing the final word for dramatic effect. I think James gets the message, because, seething, he steers his friends out of the kitchen, leaving me to my book and my small triumph.

"It's a date," I repeat to myself. However, without Potter here, it doesn't seem like such a good idea.

**A/N**: Hey, guys! WOW, thanks for the positive response to Chapter 5! I got 18 reviews! I've never gotten that many before for one chapter. You guys are absolutely amazing :) Special thanks go out to starlight 564, ramitaarora, isigirl, ilikepuffystickers, LanaDeLuca, Bri (sorry for messing up your name!), LunaInTheSky, BahMalfoyBlack, Britt (sorry for messing your name up, too!), Agnes Werneck, Molly Raesly, Lally Sads, xLycheeRAiN, How To The Moon, and Tarantallegra (that review made my DAY, by the way!) for their awesome reviews! I love you guys!

I'm on break from school next week, so I'm sure I can crank out chapter seven by next Saturday :)

-Elena


	7. Lily Evans

**A/N:** It's a week late and a little shorter than my previous chapters but…this one's a doozy, I promise. By far my favorite chapter that I have written. Enjoy!

**Chapter Seven: Lily Evans**

I have a date. I have a date with Remus John Lupin, fellow Prefect. Excellent news, really excellent. This is going to be quite brill, don't you agree?

On paper, we're perfect, really. We've always gotten on well. He's kind and smart, he's a Prefect, just like me, we both are excellent at Wizard's Chess and aren't crazy about Quidditch. We would go well together...if only I liked him. Oh, and then there's the small problem of me not _really_ being me. It's not as if he can date Melina Potter forever...but I suppose I can't worry about that now.

And you know, you can grow to like people. You can warm up to them. Who knows, maybe Remus is my soul mate, and I just don't know it.

Dinner has become the only time that James and I interact all day, and it is an affair I have grown to dread. Mr. Potter was called in to work on emergency Ministry business, so it's just James, Mrs. Potter, and I sitting around the table. We begin the meal in silence, which is A-okay as far as I'm concerned. I have gained a new appreciation for awkward silences. They have become comfortable, because I know that as long as there is an awkward silence, there is no awkward conversation, which is worse. Much worse. However, inevitably I am eventually forced to open my mouth.

"So, how are things?" asks Mrs. Potter.

"Fine," say James and I at once, both looking down at our plates. I glance up to see Mrs. Potter looking a bit amused at our synchronization, but I quickly go back to my shepherd's pie because I don't want to make eye contact. When James nor I elaborate, Mrs. Potter continues to force conversation.

"So, Melina, I bet you're excited for next Friday night!" Mrs. Potter says to me. I swallow my food like a good girl before replying, "Uh, what's next Friday?" I look over at James, who is very focused on his potatoes and appears to not be listening.

"James! How could you forget to tell our guest about the gala?" Mrs. Potter scolds her son.

"Excuse me? Gala? What gala?" I interrupt.

"As_ this one_ here forgot to mention, we are hosting a gala next week for the social elite of pureblood society," Mrs. Potter explains, somehow managing to pull off that incredibly pompous sentence without coming off conceited. "We do this every year. It sounds horribly elitist—"

"—because it is—" James cuts in, earning a glare from his mother.

"No," she says calmly. "It's all politics. Politics and tradition. But it can be quite fun! And you'll

be making a bit of history, as the first Muggle-born to ever attend! Not that anyone will know, of course."

"Oh," I say, and despite Mrs. Potter's assurances, it doesn't sound like very much fun at all.

"Do we _have_ to go?" James groans. "You know I hate these stupid pureblood functions..."

"I've been telling you for years that like it or not, you'd better get used to them!" says Mrs. Potter, giving me the impression that this is an old argument that James is bound to lose. "In a few years it will be _you_ hosting these parties, not your father."

"And _I_ plan to do away with all of these stuffy, boring parties," James tells us stubbornly.

"You will do nothing of the kind," Mrs. Potter says briskly. "The Potters have been hosting the same gala every year for generations, and my son is not going to be the one to break tradition."

"Well, sorry if I'm not getting my knickers in a twist over networking with old racist hags and pompous Ministry officials!" snaps James. "Come on, mum, no one will even notice I'm gone…"

"Yes, they will," Mrs. Potter tells him harshly. "They will notice and they will all ask questions. You're nearly of age and you need to get used to the fact that you are part of one of the most prominent familial lines in society, and sooner or later, all eyes are going to be on you. So you had better start twisting those knickers because those 'racist hags' and 'pompous officials' are soon to be your peers."

James seems to gather that he has lost this one, and sulks in his chair, playing with his potatoes with his fork. What an example of high society. Mrs. Potter turns again to me.

"We'll have to go shopping, of course, this weekend," she says matter-of-factly, "for some dress robes."

"I have dress robes," I say, and Mrs. Potter laughs.

"Oh, no, those won't do," she says, waving a hand as if brushing off my comment. I can't help but feel slightly offended, mostly because Mrs. Potter hasn't even seen my dress robes, and is assuming that they're rubbish. "You will need to be dressed _much_ more formally for this. I'll take you down to Diagon Alley on Saturday and we can get you some different ones."

"Oh," I say, not sure how I feel about this. "Cool."

"You'll need to come with us, too," Mrs. Potter adds to James. "You've grown at least two inches since last year—"

"No," says James flatly, and his fork clangs against his plate loudly. It's obvious that he has had enough of this; he may have conceded to the loss of one argument, but now he returns with new vigor. "Can't I just wear some of dad's? We're the same height now. And you can't take _Melina _shopping, either. She's not allowed outside the property, remember?"

"Oh, you're right, aren't you," Mrs. Potter sighs. She surveys me and thinks for a moment. "Alright. I'll have to go down on my own and buy you a pair. We can have our seamstress tailor the robes to fit you once I get back."

"Okay," I say again, but James' interjection has caused me to think of another issue entirely. "Uh, won't it be dangerous for me to be present at all? I mean, everyone's going to notice that you've suddenly added a daughter."

"Oh don't you worry about that," Mrs. Potter tells me with a smile. "Victor has it all sorted out. Memories have been modified, and the right people have been alerted of the situation. Your presence should go over without a hitch."

I'm still not entirely mollified. I've heard tell of these pureblood functions from Molly Prewett, the Head Girl from last year. She says they wouldn't be so awful if it were only certain families, but the presence of the Notts, Averys, Blacks, and the like are downright intolerable. I'm not looking forward to rubbing elbows with the families of the boys who have tormented me for my blood status since my first year. I can only hope that given the proper nature of this gala, they will be less unpleasant than usual.

"You mustn't listen to James," she says. Oh boy, that has got to be the most unnecessary statement ever said. "Sometimes these functions can be a bit, well, _stuffy_, but they really are quite fun. There's music, dancing, interesting people, and good food. What could be better?"

"Not sure," I reply. "Mrs. Potter, why do you have to invite all the horrid families as well?"

"Excuse me? 'Horrid' families?"

"Well, you know. Like the Notts, and the Averys and such." Mrs. Potter sighs.

"It's all tradition," she tells me tiredly. "I don't want that sort in my home either, but it's how it's always been done and it wouldn't do to exclude them."

_It wouldn't do to exclude them. _This is absolutely ridiculous.

"Um, Mrs. Potter, I don't think I want to go to this, either," I venture nervously.

"There's no reason to be afraid," Mrs. Potter reassures me.

"I…just, I don't know about this…" I trail off.

"Melina." This time her voice is more stern. "Everyone's memory has been modified. Everyone believes the Potters have two children, a daughter and a son. If you do not come to the gala, it will arouse too much suspicion. You _must_ go. _Both_ of you." She glares at James, who is still not looking up. With a sigh, she gathers up all our plates, even though neither of us has finished eating. "Melina, don't you have defensive spells to practice?"

"Yeah," I say, and I have to admit that Mrs. Potter is sounding more like my mother with every word.

"All right then. James," she adds to the boy who is trying to slip, undetected, out of the kitchen. "Where are you going?"

"My room," he grumbles.

"Aren't you going to go help Melina practice?"

James and I make eye contact for the first time all night. He has frozen by the staircase, and an unspoken moment of panic passes between us: Mr. and Mrs. Potter think James has been helping me with my training all this time, and what's more, don't know about the tension between us. James spoke first, not breaking eye contact.

"Yes," he says, "I have to get my wand. I'll meet you on the Quidditch pitch, Melina."

I nod and leave before Mrs. Potter presses us with any further questions. I get out to the Quidditch pitch and feel the cool evening air on my skin. I should have brought out a sweater. But then again, I always manage to break a sweat so I'm sure I'll be warm soon enough. I use my real wand to Summon the target out of the shed, putting my safety wand off to the side, because I'm not sure if Potter is actually going to come outside or not. I doubt he is, but I might as well leave it there, just in case.

I check my watch and as the long hand passes the "12," I start flinging hexes and jinxes at the target. It's a game I devised for myself—I have one minute to cast as many spells as possible at the target without repeating any. After my minute is up, I go to the target and count the holes I made. 43. Not too shabby.

I waved my wand and the target was reverted to its previously smooth, hole-less state and made my way back to the middle of the pitch for another round. I really have improved loads, if I don't say so myself. Not one of my spells missed their mark.

However, I see a tall, black-haired figure making his way up the pitch towards me. My heart starts pounding out of anticipation. Why is he here? I'm not up for another argument. I push the butterflies in my stomach down and conjure up my most neutral expression.

"Hello," I say formally, trying to make it clear that I don't want a fight. James simply grunts in reply. "You don't have to help me. I can manage on my own."

"Mum wants me to," James tells me, his voice flat, and as our gaze meets, I see that his eyes have lost their mischievous sparkle. I feel a twinge of anger. Who is he to make me feel guilty for making him look so sad? _He's_ the one who started yelling. _He _started all of this, not me. And isn't this what I've always wanted, to see the arrogant smirk wiped off his face? "Mum and Dad still think we get on well, and I'd rather not have to explain the situation to them."

"Fine by me," I say evenly.

"C'mon," he says, handing me my safety wand and picking up his own. "You need practice dueling with a real person, not a target."

"You…you still want to help me?"

James stares at me. "Another gem from Lily Evans. I'm not so selfish that I'm going to let personal issues get in the way of you learning to defend yourself."

James crosses the pitch, about ten feet from me. When he turns around, I swear I can see the familiar fire back in his eyes, and it sends my heart racing. I don't know why, but I suppose it's the adrenaline, that rush I always get when I know that James and I are about to do something crazy—or tear each other to pieces. That rush I felt right after he told me he loved me and turned our whole short-lived friendship upside down. My blood has become carbonated and I can feel my whole body wants this, wants to throw hex after hex at James, wants to strangle him, wants to smack him in the face and curse him for being so stupid, curse him for saying "I love you" before I was ready to hear it—

"Tarentallegra!" James casts the first spell, and like clockwork, I block it with a Shield Charm and send a Jelly-Legs Jinx right back at James. He only barely blocks it, and even from this distance, I can see his eyebrows raise. I can tell that he is impressed, and I smirk. He sends another spell at me, which I block, and then I decide to up the ante and send three curses flying in succession. James doesn't see it coming and only manages to block two of them. The Impediment Jinx sticks, and the red sparks hit him and stick to his t-shirt. I smirk to myself, and wipe some sweat off my forehead. My heart is pounding, and I revel in the stimulation of fighting with James Potter. I'm loving every minute of this, and I'm not scared to let it show. James brushes off and stands up straighter.

"Not bad, Evans," he calls. "Ready for the big leagues?"

"Bring it on," I tell him evenly, raising my wand. This time, I cast the first curse—a Full Body Bind—and not only does James block it, but he sends it back at me. I duck and lob two curses at him—one at his head and another at his feet, but he manages to roll away while flinging red sparks of his own at me. If we weren't dueling, I would stop and admire his grace and flexibility, the way he knows exactly what to do and follows his instincts perfectly. He really is a sight to see.

But of course, I'm not focused on that. I'm focused on dodging his jinx and I attempt to disarm him.

"Expelliarmous!"

"Rictasempra!"

"Stupefy!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Expelliarmous!"

"Incendio!"

"Aguamenti!"

"Impedimenta!"

I don't know how long we go on; I've lost track of time. Finally, evenly matched, we both fall to the ground, exhausted. With a pang, I feel a bit of déjà vu. I remember how a few short weeks ago, we would fall to the ground next to each other and laugh, teasing each other, and being friends. We would innocently touch, sending each others' hearts' racing, and as I flop to the ground, I turn my head to see James has done the same. He is panting and out of breath. It's almost the same situation, except now we have this distance between us, and now, for some strange, unexplainable reason, I miss him being next to me.

And then I sit up straight, with a jolt, as I realize what I've been thinking. I look over at James. _No. No. That's not how it is. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Snap out of it. No_. I shake my head, and I'm overcome with a burning desire to run away.

"Ready for round three?" James calls to me, still on the ground.

"NO!" I tell him, a lot louder and harsher than necessary. "I…I have to go."

Without caring about looking stupid or finishing my training, I run inside, up the stairs, close my door, and crumple in a heap at the bottom of it, my face in my hands.

He's infuriating, absolutely infuriating. He's unpredictable and spontaneous and dangerous and all the things I'm not, but always wanted to be. He has an easy smile and his laugh is infectious and his eyes are warm and everything he says makes me want to laugh, cry, scream, and snog him all at once. He challenges me. He makes me feel crazy, like I've lost my freaking mind, like I'm not even Lily Evans—around him, when we're getting along, I'm a new person. A relaxed, funny, charming person instead of the uptight Prefect. And I hate myself for admitting it, but at this point, I don't have a choice: I like James Potter.

But just because I like him now doesn't mean I still don't hate his guts, and it certainly doesn't mean he likes me back. And besides, it's not as if I could ever _tell_ him. Merlin, I feel like such a fool. He spent the past two years trying to make me fall for him so he could add me to his collection, and look. He's succeeded. Well, congratulations, James. But the more I try to think about his selfishness and the way he discards girls so quickly, the less it seems to add up to the James he has been all summer. Who is this boy? Is he the idealized bad boy that all the Hogwarts girls fall over? Is he the kind-hearted, charming soul I've hung out with all summer? Or is he the arrogant prat that he's proven himself to be, over and over again?

I hate him! I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! Why is he doing this to me? Why is he tearing me apart inside? Surely he must know what he's doing. One minute, we're fine, the next, we're fighting. Even though I pretend not to know, I know he knows me inside out, and that's why what he said last week hurts all the more. It's too damn draining. My body feels like it's on fire. I hate James Potter. I hate him and I want him all at once, and for that, I hate him even more.

I don't even manage to climb into my bed from emotional exhaustion. The next morning, I wake up in a heap at the bottom of my door, with my head still spinning from my epiphany.

* * *

"I hoped you would have the sense to not go through with this."

_Why _must he always enter so dramatically like that? Here I am, sitting in my own damn room, and he insists on speaking from the doorway. No knock, no "hello, may I come in?" He just stands there, leaning up against the doorway, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his arms crossed. I don't give him the satisfaction of looking directly at him. I know that if I look at him, I'll lose my resolve, and I can't let him know that anything has changed. I continue to brush my hair, unfazed, though I can see him in the mirror. I watch him carefully out of the corner of my eye.

"I would have thought that after you had calmed down and realized how rashly you acted, you would have called this whole ridiculous thing off," James continues from the doorway, sounding bored. He's such a good little actor, but I know better. I know James Potter and James Potter doesn't talk about things that bore him. This whole situation interests him greatly, because he has something to gain. "But tonight's the night and you're running out of chances."

I still say nothing. I even begin to hum a little tune to drown him out even more. Through the mirror, I see him walk up behind me, and grip the back of my chair. My whole body tenses up, but I try not to show it. He hasn't been this close to me in so long, and I miss it. I put my hairbrush down and apply makeup to my eyes.

"Remus will be here in eight minutes," James continues smoothly, and I hum a bit louder, just to show him that I don't care. He's making this much harder than it has to be, however; I watch him in the mirror as he leans down so his mouth is centimeters from my ear. I stop humming; my breath has caught in my throat. I see my eyes growing wide in the mirror as James pulls my hair away from my ear. His fingers brushing my neck ever so slightly is enough to send my heart pounding, and he whispers, "if I were you, I'd go downstairs and tell Remus the truth."

"What's 'the truth,' if I may ask?" I counter in a low, even voice. It's a fight to keep my cool, but I've been practicing all summer. I can deal with Potter now.

"The truth is that you're selfish," Potter hisses in my ear. "Tell him that you're selfish. I think we both know that you're only using him."

My hands clench around the handle of my hairbrush, but I'm determined not to lose it. He's trying to manipulate me, and I'm not going to let him. I know what to do. This is the nasty side of Potter, the side I've been seeing for years and years. Instead, I ask him another question, as nonchalantly as possible.

"What am I supposed to be using him for?"

It's like we're discussing the weather.

"Isn't it obvious?" James whispers. "To make me jealous. And I think we both can see that it's not working, so it would be best for all involved if this little date here didn't happen. Don't you agree?"

"No, I don't," I say in normal volume, breaking the spell that James seems to have cast with his low, soothing voice. "First of all, I'm not 'using' anyone. Second of all, I'm not trying to make you jealous. And I could care less if you are or not. Third of all, since you're _not_ jealous, then I don't see any problem in me going out on this date."

James looks at me, and then begins to laugh. A low, mirthless laugh that doesn't extend to his beautiful hazel eyes.

"Lily Evans, you are full of shit."

"Excuse me?" For the first time in this exchange I raise my voice. I feel like a Prefect again, and I'm ready to take him down. He is going to get it for messing with my head. I don't know how I ended up on my feet, but now I'm standing up, facing Potter, drawn up to my full height, and prepared for battle. Sure, I've spent all summer learning how not to let him get to me, but I've also learned to pick my battles, and this here is a battle that I'm going to pick.

"That's my bloody mate down there," Potter snarls, gesturing at my door, and just like that, all pretense has been dropped. We're both red-faced and standing centimeters from each other. "And he bloody fancies you—or at least, who he thinks you are—and you don't even care. You're just going to mess him around until you get what you want—"

"You are completely out of line!" I yell. "Did it ever occur to you that I _want_ to go out with Remus? Or are _you_ so conceited that you think that everything I do is directed towards you?"

"Don't turn this around on me," shouts Potter. "You know I'm right, but you're too scared to admit it!"

"Oh shut up," I scream. "You're a liar, you are! You _are _jealous_, _not to mention selfish, because the only reason _you_ don't want me to go out with Remus is because you still fancy me! Face it, you're jealous, and you can't handle it, so you're trying to tell me that I'm a horrible person so I'll do the dirty work for you and break it off!"

The instant the words are out I sense I have gone too far. James' normally composed face has been replaced by a look of dismay, helplessness, and anger. I freeze, afraid to move, because maybe if I don't, everything I just said will fall away and cease to have existed.

But just because I've stopped moving doesn't mean James hasn't, and he put his hands on his face, covering his eyes with the heel of his hands. He backs up as though reeling, and it's in that instant that I know I've won this battle. When he removes his hands, his eyes are red, but from anger, not from tears. He looks absolutely livid. When he speaks, his voice starts out even, but by the end of it, rises to a yell that is enough to leave me shaking.

"You're right. I'm jealous. I'm _so fucking jealous_ because everybody's _so_ _fucking_ in love with you!"

His words ring in my ears as he pushes past me and leaves my room, slamming the door behind him so hard that the picture of me, Mary, and Emmeline on my dresser falls to the floor.

I don't know why I'm crying, really I don't, but there it is. Maybe it's because I'm frustrated with Potter and his God damn antics and manipulation, maybe it's because I'm frustrated with myself because I don't know why I'm even going through with this stupid date, maybe it's because deep down I know he's right, and maybe it's all of those things piled up. This is the part of him I hate the most, and at this moment, I feel nothing and everything for him. I sink down onto my bed and cry, face in hands, my body wracked with sobs. This is too much emotion for one person to handle. Maybe I _should_ break off this date…no. I'm not giving Potter what he wants, even if he's just a little bit right. Besides, just because he's right doesn't make me wrong, right?

I hear the doorbell. I should have known Remus would be right on time. I look a mess; I wipe off all my makeup as quick as possible, trying to rid my face of mascara tracks, but it's still obvious that I've been crying. I wipe my eyes one last time, and deciding that there is nothing to be done at this point, I grab my handbag and head downstairs.

Remus is waiting in the doorway, looking a bit anxious, and Lord of all Lords, so is Potter. Are you kidding me? This could not get any worse. I decide to try to leave as quickly as possible with Remus so James doesn't have the chance to do any sabotage.

"Hi," says Remus, but his smile falters once I come into view. "Are you alright? You look as if you've been crying."

"Oh I'm fine," I say, waving my hand as if brushing away my problems. "I just stabbed myself with my mascara is all—silly me." I fake a laugh, and quickly change the subject. "Anyways. Shall we go?"

"Sure," Remus says, but Potter, of course, interrupts.

"_Melina_, aren't you forgetting something?"

I turn to face him, and say very deliberately, "No, I'm not."

"Sure you've got everything, Melina?" Remus asks. "Your bag or whatever?"

"Yes. Let's go." I say this last bit somewhat forcefully, and physically steer Remus out the door.

"Last chance, do you hear me?" James calls after us.

"Loud and clear," I call back, without turning around.

"Melina, what's he on about?" Remus asks me, looking extremely confused, but I'm not given a chance to reply.

"Her name's not Melina," James says loudly to Remus, and we both turn to face him.

"What?" Remus asks, bewildered, looking from James to me incredulously. My eyes widen in fear and a split second too late, I know what he's about to do.

"James, don't—"

"It's Lily. Lily Evans."

**A/N:** So I hope that was packed with enough drama to make up for it being a week late! Like I said before, I really enjoyed writing this. So many of the plotlines are beginning to come to a head, and I'm loving it! And THANK YOU to all NINETEEN REVIEWERS! I've never gotten so many for one chapter! TeenTypist, Anonymous, mediwitch3, Okok123, Bri Brianna, Jasey, LunaInTheSky, IckleblueeyedWitch, Bri, Anna, Ulin, MissArtemisFowl, arelli-black, xLycheeRAiN, Tarantellegra, buddygirl1004, evanna11, Just-As-Loony-As-Luna—thanks so much for your kind words! I really appreciate those of you who are reviewing for EVERY CHAPTER…AND those of you who are just finding my story. Thank you so much for the overwhelming support!

Until next time,

Elena


	8. Smile

**A/N: **Here's Chapter 8...a week early! You are all such amazing readers! I think you'll really like this chapter, too :)

**Chapter Eight: Smile **

The three of us stood in the garden, staring, dumbstruck at each other. James looked satisfied with the effect he had created, to say the least. Remus was looking between James and I as though trying to figure out if this was real or a joke, but seemingly unable to form any words. And as for me? I was gaping, open-mouthed at James, willing with every fiber of my being for his stupid, fat head to explode.

How could he do something so stupid? This is more than an act of jealousy—this is a betrayal. He put my life in danger. He revealed top secret information that everyone had been working for months to conceal. Everything his father had done, everything the Ministry had done, everything _I_ had done…none of it mattered, now.

"Melina," says Remus softly, and I turn to look at him. "Is this true?"

My guilty eyes never leaving his, I nod slowly.

"Of course," Remus mutters. "The Muggle-Born Protection Act. I should have known."

I can't stand the way either of them are looking at me. James, looking as though he's single-handedly won the House Cup (again), and Remus, who looks confused, embarrassed and crestfallen, are too much for me. I suddenly feel as though I'm going to be sick. I need to get out of here.

"I gotta go," I say, and I run back inside the house, ignoring Remus, who calls, "Lily!" behind me. I run up the stairs and into my room and flop on my bed, breathing hard. It's done. My secret is out. James told Remus, so how do I know he hasn't told everyone else, too? Does Sirius Black know? Perhaps he commented on my odd behavior in the greenhouse and James spilled the beans to him, too. And if Remus and Sirius know, then that means Peter Pettigrew knows as well, and _everyone_ knows that Peter can't keep his mouth shut—

No. I can't even think of it. Visions of Death Eaters knocking down the door of the Potter Manor fill the inside of my eyelids, and my stomach twists even more. I try to push away this horrible sight but no matter how much I blink and rub my eyes, I can't get rid of it. It's as if the image has been burned into me. I can't believe James would be so stupid and selfish. I always knew he was a prat who would do anything to get what he wants, but endangering my _life_? Isn't that going a little too far?

I'm so stupid. How could I fancy this horrible boy? As soon as I think it, tears start to fall. I hate him. He doesn't care about me at all—he just doesn't want Remus to have what _he _can't have. I can feel my heart turn to ice and the cold burns the inside of my ribcage. It sinks down into my stomach and ties knot after knot, and then suddenly disappears, leaving me empty and alone. Now, I'm not crying because he's betrayed me or because he's not the boy I thought he was—I'm crying because he's exactly who I always pegged him to be and I can't believe I was so stupid to fall into this trap. I'm just another one of those girls to him, and that's all I'll ever be, and that breaks my heart.

* * *

I'm still seething by dinnertime, as is James. I can practically feel his white-hot anger radiating off of him. It's enough to re-heat the mashed potatoes on the table. I ladle some food on my plate and try to keep my mouth as full as possible so no one can talk to me. Mr. Potter still isn't back. I've barely seen him at all lately, in fact. Mrs. Potter tries to chat with James about his day, but James only gives her short, one-word responses that annoy her more and more with every sentence.

"What about you, Melina? How was your day?" she asks me, giving up on James.

"Fine," I tell her, and Mrs. Potter slams down her spoon. James and I both jump.

"Now, really," she says, exasperatedly. "What on Earth is going on here?"

"Nothing," James and I say at the same time, looking at our plates.

"Teenagers," Mrs. Potter says under her breath and she goes back to her food. We eat in silence for a few minutes until we here the familiar _crack_ of someone Apparating. Everyone at the table looks up. It's Mr. Potter, looking generally disheveled. He hasn't shaved in a few days, and the dark circles under his eyes are evidence that he probably hasn't slept, either. He's carrying a piece of worn parchment clutched in his left hand.

"Victor! What a surprise!" says Mrs. Potter, clearly delighted at her husband's appearance. She gets up to give him a kiss but he ignores the attempt. I see what Mrs. Potter doesn't—his gaunt eyes are glowering, and his mouth is contorted into a tight line reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. He slams the worn parchment onto the table in front of me with enough force to make my bowl of soup jump a few centimeters off the table.

"_What_," Mr. Potter snarls at me, "is _this_?"

I look down at the parchment, and my stomach suddenly feels as though it's full of lead. It's my letter to Mary.

"It's…it's a letter," I tell him, stuttering slightly. I'm a little scared; Mr. Potter is actually shaking in anger.

"I thought the rules were clear," he says in a low, dangerous voice. "No outside contact. How could you do something so _stupid_? You revealed not only your identity, but your whereabouts in that letter!"

I have nothing to say except, "N-no one saw it, though. So…everything's fine?"

"It is most certainly _not _fine!" Mr. Potter bellows, so loudly the chandelier shakes. "Don't you understand that we're being watched? Your owl was intercepted by Death Eaters!"

Those words are enough to turn my insides to ice. Mrs. Potter gasps, and James finally looks up from his food.

"_What?_" he exclaims.

"How could you put yourself and this entire family in danger?" Mr. Potter yells. "Do you have any idea what you've _done_? What could have happened? This letter contains enough information for the Death Eaters to break through our protective enchantments! They could have knocked down our door and killed all of you!"

I don't have any answers. Against my will, tears start to fall and I can't stop them.

"Why did you do it?" Mr. Potter demands, ignoring my crying. I immediately see why he's such a powerful Auror—it seems like he has no mercy. "Why? What could have compelled you to do such a thing?"

"I…I don't know," I blubber, my body too wracked with sobs to come up with a decent explanation for my actions.

"'You don't know?' You don't know why you put this entire family in danger? You don't know why you nearly ruined everything we're working for? Do you realize that hundreds of people have banded together to protect _you_? And you're willing to just throw it all away?"

"I'm sorry!" I yell, and now I'm standing up, too. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry! I didn't want to put anyone in danger, I was just lonely and I thought—"

"No, you didn't _think_," spat Mr. Potter. "And thanks to _you _feeling lonely, six Aurors have had to spend the last week hunting down the Death Eaters that intercepted the letter!"

"Did you catch them, Dad?" James asks anxiously.

"Yes, in the end all their memories were modified," he says, running a hand through his hair. "but they got away before we could do much more. We all got off very easy. They could have come and killed us all! Luckily, we had a bit of a tip-off from an anonymous source, but all of that aside, it was a VERY dangerous thing to do!"

I still couldn't stop crying. "I'm sorry," I whimper pathetically, and Merlin knows I mean it.

"Victor, please," says Mrs. Potter softly, putting a hand on her husbands' arm. "She's sorry. Please give it a rest. I think we've all learned a lesson today."

Everyone is silent again, except for me, blubbering away like a little baby.

"Before I give it a rest," Mr. Potter says, his voice more controlled. "I need to know: has anything else along these lines happened? Any other letters we don't know about?"

James and I look at each other, and to my surprise, I find guilt in his eyes. We have a silent conversation wherein he nods slightly, to which I take to mean that he will take responsibility for what he did this afternoon.

"Well?" Mr. Potter demands impatiently. We break eye contact, and James takes a deep breath, preparing for his father's wrath.

"I—I might have said something to…Remus…" says James slowly, not looking at his father.

"What did you say?" Mr. Potter says angrily, while Mrs. Potter gasps and says, "No, James, you didn't!"

"I told him that Melina was really Lily," says James, still not making eye contact with anybody.

"James Potter!" roars Mr. Potter. "What am I going to do with you? That's _twice_ now you've put Lily in danger! What is _wrong_ with you? Are you _impaired_?"

"No, Dad," says James, hanging his head.

"Then do you _want _her dead?"

"No, Dad."

"I'm disgusted," Mr. Potter snaps. "Absolutely disgusted with both of you. James, come into the study. I need to have a few _private words_ with you. And Melina." He looks at me in my sad, blathering state, and I swear I see a bit of sympathy behind his fury. "Just get out of my sight."

I don't hesitate to comply, and I dash up the stairs as fast as my legs will carry me, falling onto my bed and drift away into a restless sleep full of dreams of murderers and Death Eaters and, worst of all, the screams of the Potter family, who have been murdered because of me.

* * *

The next morning, I hop in the shower, letting the cold water wash over me and wipe away all the tear tracks that have been dried to my face. I feel as though I haven't slept at all. I'm so emotionally drained from yesterday—never have I been yelled at so much in one day. Hell, never have I screwed up so much in one day. I have hurt so many people…Remus, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter, and even James. We dodged a bullet—Mr. Potter wasn't exaggerating when he said that we all could have been killed. Thankfully, we all got off unscathed. But I will never do anything so stupid again. The Potters have been so kind to me—it would be a big fat thank-you to them if they ended up dying over me.

Now, to the issue of Remus. Does it make me a horrible person if, after James announced my identity, I felt…relieved? I really didn't want to go out with him, and I'm privately glad that I didn't have to. On the other hand, I feel completely rotten. As much as I hate to admit it, James was right. The only reason I agreed to go out with Remus was because he asked me right in front of James, and I wanted to hurt him. It worked, at any rate. Why else would James have outed me? And look how well that turned out.

I really should get over this boy. What good has it gotten me? He brings out the worst in me. This isn't smart or logical. This is madness, utter madness. I don't even understand how I can like him so much when I never want to speak to him ever again. It's like the more furious I get at him, the more I want to snot him. How many times do I have to want to rip his face off until I get over him?

I step out of the shower in a daze. I feel numb. So this is what a broken heart feels like. He had to just go and betray me, didn't he? He just had to confirm everything I thought of him. He had me going there for a bit—I actually thought that maybe he was a good guy, underneath it all. But good guys don't do that, which leads me to the conclusion that James Potter is not a good guy. Good guys don't break the hearts of the girls who fancy them. They just don't.

* * *

I walk through the house in a zombie-like state over the next two days. I have had zero conversation with James, and that's how I like it. If I ever want to be shot of him, I have to ignore him. So I spend most of my time in my room, wallowing, lost in my own thoughts. There are times where I haul a few books from the library up to my room and have a half-hearted attempt at studying, but that always ends with me losing interest and staring back up at my ceiling, thinking. A few days after "the incident," there's a knock on my door. I hope that if I don't reply, James will go away, but he simply knocks again.

"I'm not here," I call thickly through the door, trying and failing to mask the fact that I've been crying. He's the last person I ever want to see, ever again. If I see him, I'm sure I'm going to cry again and I can't imagine anything more humiliating.

James knocks again, and I get up.

"I don't want to talk to you, James, you—"I start, flinging the door open, but I find myself face-to-face with not James, but Remus, with his hands jammed in his pockets. "Oh."

He doesn't ask to come in. Instead, he just pushes past me and enters my room without invitation. His face is etched with agitation, and his body is tense. I've never seen him like this before.

"Lily, I just gotta know," he says. He's pacing across my floor. "I'm going to ask you once, and you need to be honest with me." He runs his hands through his hair. "Lily, are you interested in me? At all?"

"I—" I know the answer, but I'm scared to say it. I know that if we hash this whole thing out, Remus is going to end up hurt. "So they didn't modify your memory, then," I comment.

"No, they didn't, thanks to James," says Remus, a note of bitterness in his voice. "But that's not what we're talking about right now."

"Remus, please. Let's not do this now."

"Lily, answer the question." I've never seen Remus looking so intense. I look up at him—surely I owe him that, after I tried to use him to get back at James and all. I gulp, and in a very small voice, I say,

"No. No, I suppose I'm not."

Remus nods, and I know that I have confirmed what he suspected. "Do—I mean, are you-?"

"I don't know," Remus says quickly. He puts his head in his hands and sinks onto my bed. I hesitate before sitting down next to him. I'm a little more comfortable now that I know he's not going to yell at me. Very carefully, I put a hand on his shoulder. He stiffens, but doesn't shake it off.

"Remus. Talk to me, please," I beg quietly. "You're my only friend right now."

Remus doesn't say anything for a long time, and I begin to wonder if he even heard me at all. Or maybe he forgot I was in the same room as he was. Or maybe he's just lost in his own thoughts, just as I've been.

"I never had feelings for you when you were just Lily," Remus tells me. "I would never dream of thinking of you as anything more than a friend. But Melina was…different."

"How?" I want to know.

"I…I can't say, exactly."

"Maybe it's my hair." Remus laughs a bit at that, and I feel more relaxed.

"Maybe it's…well, maybe I was reading the signs or whatever wrong, but Melina—I mean, you—were so easy to talk to, and you were so nice to me, even though you had never met me…except you _had_ already met me, so I guess I _did_ get the wrong impression…" he seemed to lose track of his thought process. "Girls aren't normally that nice to me, and you were. And I thought, maybe because you were James' sister, you wouldn't care that I was—" he cut himself off abruptly, his face flushing. "Uh…"

I thought I knew what he was about to say, and I squeezed his shoulder. Severus had always had his suspicions about Remus and the rest of the Marauders, and I knew these suspicions were confirmed the night Sirius sent him down the tunnel that led to the Shrieking Shack. Dumbledore forbade him from telling anyone, but he told me anyways. I never confronted Remus about it—there was never really a good time for us to have that conversation, you know? And he still doesn't know that I know. But he's right about one thing: I don't care that he's really a werewolf.

"Well, you didn't really know her all that well," I say reasonably, acting like I didn't realize him falter. It's nuts how good I've gotten at speaking in the third person.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Remus tells me. "I'm afraid that…I don't know…since I fancied Melina, and Melina is really you, I might…you know…" He trails off, his voice low again.

"Right," I say, looking at the wall opposite where we are sitting. And then, very quietly, almost inaudibly, I say, "Do you think you fancy me?"

Remus is quiet for a long time. I can hear him breathing deeply, but I don't want to look at him, because I have no idea what my reaction would be. I don't want to look at his expression and start analyzing it to death. And I don't want to see him sad.

"No," says Remus finally. "I think…I'm just confused."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Good. Because I want us to stay friends."

"Yeah," says Remus, and I look over at him. He's smiling, and it's not a fake smile. I can tell he means what he says, and that gives me untold senses of relief. "I'm sorry for bursting in here like that," he says, gesturing to the door. "I've been a bit out of sorts lately, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," I reply darkly. He lets off a laugh.

"Me fancying you. Could you imagine?" Remus laughs again, and I manage a little laugh along with him. The idea really is quite ludicrous. "It's you. Lily Evans and Remus Lupin. It just wouldn't work." I laugh appreciatively, thankful that we're actually on the same page. "And besides, you're completely off-limits."

"'Off-limits?'" I say incredulously. "Who says I'm 'off-limits?'"

"James," says Remus simply, and just the sound of his name is enough to elevate my blood pressure. "Surely you must have noticed…anytime any bloke looks at you, he threatens to curse them into oblivion."

"No, I haven't noticed," I reply quietly, and though a twinge of annoyance at his overbearing, stalker-ish tendencies run through me, I also feel my stomach take a very pleasant little flop. No. I suppress my traitor of a digestive tract and shake my head. I'm supposed to be getting over him. Instead of acting on the part of me that seems to like this crazy nutter, I act on the more comfortable part of me who hates him. "What business is it of his who looks at me? I'm perfectly at liberty to look at or _be_ looked at by whoever I like!"

"Are you really that blind?" Remus asks me. "He's mad about you. Always has been, always will be."

"Mad about getting into my pants, more like," I snort, even though the idea of Potter liking me forever and always is not all that reprehensible. But I push those thoughts out of my head and remind myself of who I'm dealing with. He's a player. Nothing but a player who wants what he can't have. "He only wanted me because I'm the only girl who ever said 'No' to him," I tell Remus, unable to keep a note of bitterness out of my voice.

"I don't think it's quite that simple," Remus tells me cautiously.

"Well, let me simplify it for you," I tell Remus. I realize that I'm being a lot angrier than I need to be, but I haven't gotten a chance to let off steam in a long time. "James Potter collects girls like chocolate frog cards. He becomes infatuated, has a good snog, and then replaces them with his next Flavor of the Week."

Remus actually laughs at this.

"What?" I demand. "What is so funny about that?"

"Lily, do you have any idea _why_ his relationships never last very long?" says Remus impatiently. "It's because after you reject him, he insists he's over you, goes out with the next decent-looking girl who makes eyes at him, and then he gets bored because she can never measure up to you."

I have to admit, this softens me. But I'm not done challenging him.

"If he _really_ liked me, he wouldn't go out with all those girls."

"Lily." Remus sighs. "You can't expect him to wait for you forever. He's trying to get over you. He has every right to date. All I'm saying is that his plans aren't working out so well."

"I can pretty much guarantee you that he's 'over' me," I reply ruefully. "That is, if I believe he was…uh, _under_ me in the first place." Remus raises his eyebrows at my word choice, but I plunder on. "He ripped me a good one about a week ago. Called me conceited."

"Why would he call you that?" asked Remus, sounding a bit amused.

"Because I didn't listen to him when he tried to apologize to me." I explain.

"What for?"

"For telling me he was in love with me and ruining our friendship."

"_What?_ What friendship?" Remus looks shocked. I sigh and explain.

"We decided to be friends after I stole _The Standard Book of Spells_ from Flourish and Blotts." I can't help but smile a little at the memory. Remus, meanwhile, is in stitches. "What?" I demand, cutting across his laughter. "What's so funny?"

"This!" he says in between laughs. "You two! You two are so ridiculous! Why don't you just get _married_ already?"

"Excuse me? _Married_? I can't stand the boy." I'm lying, of course, but there's no need. Remus sees right though it.

"Lily," he says once his laughter has subsided. "Everything he says makes you angry. You agreed to go on a date with me to make him jealous. You stole a _book_ for him. You fancy James."

"Preposterous," I mutter. "Absolutely preposterous."

"This _situation_ is preposterous. You two belong together, and instead, you're at each other's throats!"

"Because we _don't belong together_. We're so incompatible. He thinks I'm uptight, and I think he's arrogant, and we hate each other, _and_ in case you haven't noticed, he put my _life_ in danger by revealing my identify. Who knows who else he's told—"

"Lily, you know he hasn't told anybody." Remus cuts me off. "And haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'opposites attract?'"

"Yes, and I think it's bloody stupid," I say intelligently. Remus laughs at me again. I could kill him.

"You're smarter than this, Lily Evans," he tells me. "I can tell you like him, and he sure as hell fancies the pants off you. Even if he doesn't act like it all the time."

"Maybe he should act it, then," I tell him. "Then I might believe it."

Remus sighs and gets up off the bed.

"Maybe you should take your own advice," he says seriously. "I've gotta go. Glad we've cleared this up."

"Yeah," I say, so lost in thought again that I barely notice when he leaves. I slump back on my pillows, and I can't help but think that I really haven't cleared anything up at all.

* * *

The next morning, I'm in the shower by six-forty-five. I could barely sleep the night before, but I'm full of energy. This whole James Potter deal is getting stupid. And I'm going to kick this once and for all. I'm going to take every single one of his bad qualities and every horrid thing he's ever said, and I'm going to let them wash over me like this water until all my feelings for him have been drowned out. Let's start with the events of last week. Potter was way out of line that day in the garden. Who is he to say those things to me? I mean, really. Immature? Spoiled? Who's the one who lives in a mansion and owns a five hundred galleon broomstick? Who thinks it's funny to pull pranks that everyone else has to clean up? Who's the one who attacks people for the fun of it? Who's the one who…who…welcomed a girl who has spent the last year consistently rejecting his every advance into his house? And then gave her space when she needed it? And taught her to protect herself even when he was angry with her, and brought out the good in her, and called her out on her faults, and showed her how to be spontaneous and then tried to tell her how he felt until she…

Oh, Merlin. He's right. I'm a horrible person.

All I've been thinking about is me. I haven't stopped to appreciate how hard this summer has been on James as well. His father disappears for days at a time in the midst of a battle. He sacrificed the security of his pureblood status to take me in. He lied to his friends for me. I mean, he hasn't been perfect, of course, but who is, really? I've never once thanked him for doing all this. And I really have never given him enough credit.

No matter how much it pains me to say it, he's not that bad. When it comes down to it, I can't really think of that much awful stuff. I mean, he's been a bit inconsiderate in the past with his stupid pranks that I always end up clearing up, but at worst they're stupid, and at best, they're mildly entertaining. Not dangerous, or even irresponsible. And I even remember that time where he rescued Severus from the Whomping Willow last year. He _saved_ him, his worst enemy. That takes maturity. He's a loyal friend—even I can see that. The way he will do anything for Remus or Sirius, and how he always includes little Peter Pettigrew, even though everyone knows he's completely out of their league, is admirable. If I'm really honest with myself, I have to admit that he's not that bad, and I think it might be me who owes him an apology for once. He really has changed. It's me who hasn't.

I turn off the shower and try to shut off my brain, because I've had enough epiphanies for one day. And as I reach for my towel and step out of the shower, I realize that there is nothing quite as refreshing as a new perspective.

* * *

The walk to James' bedroom is a long one. I feel as though I'm on death row. Why won't my damn heart stop pounding? I swear I've got a tattoo on my ribcage from all this. I pace outside his door, scared to knock. I've already rehearsed exactly what I'm going to say. I'm going to tell him that I was out of line and that I'm sorry, and I will be very mature and then I will walk out the door and give him space. I don't want to crowd him. And then the ball will be in his court.

But what if he doesn't forgive me? Not even in that little space of time, but all summer? What if we go back to Hogwarts as enemies? Well, things would be back to normal, at any rate. But I've found that I don't really like normal all that much anymore. I want to make peace. But what if he yells at me? I'm not sure what I'd do if he did. And, even worse, what if he just ignored me? You know, the same way I did when he was trying to apologize to me. I feel another guilty pang in my stomach at the very thought of it.

Well, there's no way of knowing unless I knock on this door. I raise my fist, but it takes me at least another minute to pluck up the courage to knock.

"It's open," I hear James call from inside, and cautiously, I turn the doorknob and open the door.

He's on his bed in his pajamas, reading a Quidditch magazine. His room is not nearly as messy as I anticipated, and I stand awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. "May I come in?" I ask nervously. He looks up from the magazine, and I can tell from his eyes that he's surprised to see me.

"Talking to me again, I see," James says evenly, but he doesn't throw me out. I take a step inside, and when he doesn't object, I come closer to the bed. I don't sit down on it; somehow I feel that it's off-limits and instead, I just stand next to him somewhat awkwardly.

"That's actually what I came here to talk to you about," I tell him. James doesn't look interested. In fact, he looks bored, and as though he wishes I would leave so he could go back to his magazine. I take a deep breath and prepare to deliver the speech I have prepared, but one look into James' eyes and I've forgotten everything I was going to say. And then I'm off.

"I've been absolutely horrid to you, just really truly dreadful. And I'm so sorry because you've been absolutely lovely most of the time, and I don't know how we managed to get ourselves into this stupid mess because I much prefer us being friends and I wish we could just forgive each other. You're exactly right; I haven't been very nice and I'm really selfish, and you've grown up a lot. You're better than I give you credit for. And even though you're still arrogant and can be a total prick, I—I enjoy your company and I hate that we're fighting."

James looks dumbstruck, and I just stand there, completely vulnerable. I've laid it all out for him, and now it's up for him to decide whether or not we're going to be friends or hate each other forever. I wait, holding my breath until he speaks.

But he doesn't just speak. He laughs. I don't know what to do. I accounted for everything—screaming, throwing me out, completely ignoring me, and even forgiveness—but not for laughter. So I just stand there and wait for him to finish.

"That must have been the hardest thing you've ever had to say," James chortles. "Blimey, Evans, you're a piece of work."

I can't decide if this is a complement or an insult, so I say nothing.

"And I'm sorry too, you know," James tells me. "I was out of line telling Remus who you were. I'm sorry. I was jealous." He was jealous. Of me. On a date. With another boy.

"That's okay," I say, finding my voice at last. "That was going to get messy pretty soon, anyways."

"You two cleared all that up, though, right?" James wants to know.

"How did you know that?"

"He was over here yesterday and before he left, he said he wanted to see you."

"Oh." Well, that's a bit obvious. "I'm not interested in him, you know."

I can't read James' face, but I feel the tone of our conversation change immediately.

"Why are you telling me that?" he asks slowly. I shrug.

"It's just, you were right, you know? I'm not interested in him. I said yes because I thought it would make you…angry."

James surveys me, and I wonder if he can tell that I almost said, "jealous." I feel like I'm in a Petri dish under a microscope as he looks me up and down and every which way in between. He's reading my thoughts, I know it. He can see my thoughts and feel my feelings and he knows my heart is racing and he knows that I fancy him, and I'm sure he knows everything else about me as well. His facial expression softens before he replies.

"This is a new record," he says, giving me a wry smile. "Apologizing to me _and_ telling me I'm right all in one conversation?"

"I suppose it's a momentous occasion," I agree, smiling back. "So, are we good? Can we be friends?"

James ruffles his hair with his hand.

"Lily, so far this summer, we have ripped each other to pieces, put my entire family in danger, pulled a heist on Diagon Alley, effectively sent Remus for a spin, nearly given my parents several heart attacks, and all the while, become rather excellent duelers." He looks at me very seriously. "I'd have to say that qualifies as a friendship."

My face breaks out into a smile, and before I can stop myself, I give James a hug.

"What's this about?" James asks, though he laughs and puts his arms around me. It's all I can do not to melt into him.

"Just…thank you," I whisper in his ear. "For everything. You're lovely. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Evans, come off it. I already have." He puts his hand in my hair and pulls me a little closer. I'm sure he can feel my heart beating wildly through his t-shirt.

"That's it? You're forgiving me just like that?"

"Of course," says James, and I can feel his breath on my neck, making my whole body tingle. "We both screwed up a fair bit, and I say we're even. And…it's not as if I could ever stay mad at you."

We pull apart, and an awkward silence materializes between us. So, naturally, I take care of it.

"And I'd hardly call stealing _one_ book from Flourish and Blotts and then returning to apologize and pay for it a 'heist.'"

James laughs appreciatively at this.

"It's a start," James tells me. "Trust me, by the end of summer, I'll have you running your own ring of organized crime."

"I can hardly wait," I say, and we both break into laughter again. How could I have ever hated this boy? Yes, we're polar opposites, and we find each other infuriating, but you know what?

I can't stop smiling.

* * *

**A/N: **WOW. You guys went above and beyond my expectations with your reviews! Thanks to ICKraM3, SpencerReidFan89, A, pgckle8, okok123, Chocoholic Bookluver, Raven Calling, isigirl, Giggler, conversee, Music, Tarantallegra, TheOneBehindItAll, mediwitch3, xLycheeRAiN, JAsey, arelli-black, Just-As-Loony-As-Luna, Ulin, buddygirl1004, TeenTypist, XxkateexX, H o r i z o n s (I'm so glad you're still reading! It's been a while!), IckleblueeyedWitch, and wolftracks17 for your incredible reviews! Please keep it up; it maks me feel so good when you all tell me that you're enjoying my story.

Chapter 9 is about half-done! Whoo! So hopefully I'll see you guys next week...?

Love,

Elena


	9. Restless

**Chapter Nine:** Restless

The next week found us all immersed in preparations for the Potter's gala. I try to help out as much as I can, in the hopes of dispelling the Potter's impression of me as careless and self-centered. I know cleaning the house doesn't exactly make up for nearly getting them murdered, but hey, it's a start, right?

Normally, I loathe household chores, but they go by much faster with James. For about a day we were still a little awkward around each other, and oddly formal, as though trying to ensure we wouldn't get in another fight. However, it was just as easy for us to become friendly again as it is for us to start to yell. I'm still a little wary of free-falling into liking him, but it really is a lot easier to function without a constant inner monologue entitled, "99 Reasons Why I Hate James Potter." I'll be cautious, of course, and stay in control, but James is doing a darn good job of making himself likeable.

For instance, James is a very excellent whistler. I never knew that about him. We dust all the surfaces in the sitting room while James whistles the latest Wizarding hit song. I whistle along when I know the tune, and together, we're quite the choir. James, who I expected to try and do as little work as possible, is surprisingly helpful. I was surprised when his mother made him help out as well, which aided in dispelling the image I had of James as being waited on, hand and foot. Seeing as their family has an army of House Elves at their disposal and could certainly manage without either of us. I suppose James isn't as spoiled as I thought he was.

"I didn't know you were so good at cleaning!" I tell him once we've finished dusting.

"'Good at cleaning?'" James laughs. "Is that the best complement you can come up with, Evans?"

"For you, yes," I reply cheekily. He hits me with his dust rag, sending dust particles all over my sweater and causing me to cough vigorously.

"Whoops," he says abashedly, though he laughs slightly while helping me brush off my sweater, sending chills down my spine. "Well, you know, all those times I've had to clean the trophy room without magic have trained me pretty well."

"Not at dusting, apparently," I grumble, but really, I don't care. I don't much like this sweater, anyways.

"Looks like we're done here," James says, looking around and admiring our handiwork. Honestly, the room was so clean to begin with that it doesn't look that much different, but I don't doubt that now it is completely sterile. I bet we could perform surgery in here.

"Agreed," I say, and we high-five. "On to the library?"

James nods and leads the way down the hallway. However, something catches my eye on my way out of the sitting room—the fabricated family portraits. I can't help but smile at the one of James and I. On my first day here, we looked as though we wanted to strangle each other, but today, we're standing, arm-in-arm, and laughing at something. It's…nice.

"Lily! I can't dust all these books myself!"

James' voice floats down the hallway and snaps me back to reality.

"Coming!" I call back, and I make my way to the library, smiling to myself the whole way.

* * *

"No wonder you hate these galas," I say, slumping exhaustedly into my chair for dinner. "I feel like a House Elf." James laughs and sits down across from me. Mrs. Potter isn't down for dinner yet, which I'm thankful for. I don't think I would survive two minutes beyond saying anything rude about Mrs. Potter's ball.

"Trust me, the cleaning is the most enjoyable part," James replies ruefully.

"Is it really that bad?" I ask. "I mean, it's a party. It can't be that horrible."

"It used to be a laugh, when Sirius and I could muck around the whole time. But his parents stopped letting him come around fourth year because they're embarrassed by him. As if keeping him at home one night a year will make everyone forget he existed."

Like most of the Gryffindor fifth years, I'm familiar with Sirius' family troubles, and I nod sympathetically. James goes on:

"Well, Frank Longbottom's alright, and so are the Prewett's and the Tindall's, but for every one of them, you also have to mingle with a Malfoy or an Avery. It's pretty unpleasant. Plus, about seventy percent of it is old Ministry crones asking a million questions about my future…oh, it's going to be a nightmare now that OWLs are out…" James rolls his eyes, but never ceases to look anything but charming.

"You have any idea what you're going to do after Hogwarts?" I ask him conversationally.

"Auror," he answers automatically. "I'm going all-in on this war as soon as I graduate. I want to be in the middle of everything, just like my dad." He swells proudly when he mentions his father.

"That's very noble of you," I tell him. "Maybe we'll be Aurors together."

"I should have known you wanted to fight, Evans," James smirks.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Relax, it's a good thing!" says James hastily, clearly not wanting to get into another argument.

"I should hope so," I tell him as Mrs. Potter comes downstairs.

Dinner passes very pleasantly, for once. Mrs. Potter chatters away about the upcoming gala, listing off rooms that still need to be tidied and debating which puddings to serve while James pretends to throw up into his steak-and-kidney pie behind her.

"—and Lily, I have your robes," Mrs. Potter adds to me. "You can try them on after dinner."

"Oh, okay," I tell her. I had totally forgotten about the robes.

"And while we're doing that, James, you'll need to go through your father's old robes. He never throws anything away—I daresay he has something you can wear."

"Cheers," says James through a mouthful of food.

"James," Mrs. Potter chides. "Chew your food. You'll be the scandal of the night if you talk with your mouth full like that."

"Don't you think that's a bit of an overstatement?" asks James after swallowing hard.

"Behave yourself," she tells him, emphasizing her words with her fork. When she goes back to her food, we catch each other's eyes and try to stifle our laughter.

Halfway through dinner, Mr. Potter Apparates home from work. Mrs. Potter jumps up to greet her husband, and thankfully, he isn't on the warpath.

"Rough day, dad?" asks James. Mr. Potter sighs as he sits down and pulls some potatoes toward him.

"No worse than any other," he says wearily. "We're investigating some suspicious activity in Bristol, and there have been more Muggle-born killings around Manchester—I expect it'll be all over the _Prophet_ tomorrow."

"Is…is it anyone we would know?" I ask hesitantly.

"Your parents are safe," Mr. Potter assures me with a small smile. "The McDaniel family were the main victims. They've been in hiding, but they found 'em anyways…"

"McDaniel…" I've heard the name before.

"McDaniel as in Mason McDaniel?" James says. "He was two years above us at Hogwarts."

"The very same," says Mr. Potter ruefully.

"Mason was a Prefect with me last year," I say, shocked. The table goes silent.

"Now, really," Mrs. Potter scolds. "Must we discuss this? And over dinner, too!"

"We can't avoid it, Frances," Mr. Potter tells her gloomily, patting her hand. "This war is all around us, and it's not going to go ignored."

The rest of the meal passes in silence, and though I push the delicious-looking food around my plate, I don't touch another bite.

* * *

After dinner, Mrs. Potter calls the seamstress over and dresses me up. Though my new dress robes are a beautiful purple and made of the finest material I've ever worn, I have a hard time cracking a smile as I look in the mirror. Mrs. Potter fawns over me, and the seamstress has rolls of tape snaking themselves all over my body, taking measurements, but I can barely hear them over the roaring in my ears. I feel like a faker. Here I am, in a beautiful house, wearing a beautiful dress, and getting ready for a ball, while my Muggle-born friends are off getting murdered.

When Mrs. Potter and the seamstress finally finish with me, I strip off the dress robes as fast as I can without ripping the fabric, and change into my pajamas. As I fall into bed, all my thoughts seem to come crashing down on me as well.

The Muggle and Muggle-born death tolls have risen to the thousands. I hear Mr. and Mrs. Potter's whispers of death and destruction. I'm completely isolated from the outside world—if I was going to be attacked, I would never know, never have any time to prepare, or to run—as if I could. All this training is going to be for nothing. I'm not strong enough. Mason McDaniel. Why him? Why not me? Am I next? Where are my parents? I want them here with me, right now. Are they dead? Maybe they've been killed, but no one wants to worry me. A knot in my stomach tightens and my eyes start leaking. _They would tell you. They would tell you if something happened_…but would they? Maybe everything's fine, but what's "fine" nowadays, anyways? Everything's all wrong. I wish I could be out there fighting instead of in here. I know I'm hopeless, but I'm sick of being helpless. I want to help. I want to do _something_, because I'm sick of laying about here, waiting for the Death Eaters to call like a sitting duck! And this ball…whatever Mrs. Potter says, I can't help but think I'm walking straight into a disaster…

"Lily?"

Oh, not this again. I try to wipe my face clean of tears but I know my eyes are puffed up and my cheeks are red, and really it's no use. So I do what any mature sixteen-year-old would do: I roll over on my side so my back is to the door, and I pretend to be asleep.

"Lily?" says James, again. "You in there?"

I hear him open the door slightly, and my heartbeat instantly quickens. _Go away, James_, my mind wills. _Not now…any time but now…_

But James doesn't listen to me when I'm speaking. What makes me think he'll listen if I speak inside my head? I hear his soft, sock-covered footsteps coming towards my bed and I lay perfectly still, trying not to give myself away. Over the years of living in a dormitory with three other nosy (if not loveable) girls I have perfected this tactic, right down to the rhythmic breathing and slight shifts in position.

Here's the difference between the girls in my dormitory and James Potter: the girls in my dormitory don't usually sit down on the side of my bed and whisper in my ear.

"I know you're faking," he says softly, and as I feel his hot breath on my neck, my own breath catches in my throat. Still, I do not stir. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything. You don't even have to remember this conversation in the morning, if you don't want to. I just feel like sometimes you need reminding…while you're here, you're safe. Everyone is looking out for you. _I'm_ looking out for you. And if you weren't pretending to be asleep, you'd call me a prat for saying this, but I'm serious. If you go down, I go down trying to save you. You're too good to lose."

He's right, you know—he is a prat. He's sixteen. What is he gonna do, throw up a Shield Charm to protect me from an Unforgivable Curse? But his words still melt my heart, and I can't help but let a tiny sigh escape my lips.

"All that with McDaniel? I talked to Dad about it. He says the McDaniel family went abroad instead of responding to the Muggle-Born Protection Act. Mason was eighteen, so there was nothing illegal about it. But they weren't protected at all, and that's how things ended up the way they did. You are under so much more protection than he ever was. The Death Eaters don't stand a chance."

At the mention of Mason McDaniel, I start crying again. I feel horrible, because it's not even out of grief for his death. I barely knew him. It's because if I was about a year older, our positions could have been swapped.

"Lily." James touches my hair lightly. "You're a lousy pretender. If you think I'm going to believe that you regularly cry in your sleep…"

"I'm just…It's really scary for people like me," I whisper, but even through the whisper, I know he can hear my voice break. "It seems like everyone I know is dying, and I don't know where my parents are. I'm so scared for them…and I've been messing up so much…and you're dad even said that it's only a matter of time until they know where I am…" There was no need to clarify who "they" were. I was shaking with the emotion of voicing these things aloud, along with the pressure of forcing myself to control myself and not start wailing like a baby.

"Shh," says James, rubbing my arm soothingly. "Your parents are safe and happy. My dad personally made sure of that. And as for you? Twenty people would die before they let anything happen to you. _I _would die before I let those Death Eaters near you."

Something about his voice and his touch make me want to tell him everything, but I hold back. I want to say it, but I don't know where to begin. I wouldn't even know how to put it into words. All I can do is croak out, "Thanks, James," and I try to put as much emotion as I can into those two little words.

"It's okay, it's okay," he murmurs, rubbing my back, and I silently cry until I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When I wake up, he is gone, and I feel strangely alone.

* * *

James did not acknowledge the events of the night before all through the day. Not so much as a wink or a sideways glance was thrown my way, and for that, I'm thankful. As much as I enjoyed having James that close to me, comforting me, I was intensely embarrassed that he watched me cry. I can barely look him in the eye all day, even though we are cleaning together, but if he notices, he makes no comment.

Dinner that night was difficult, to say the least. Mr. Potter arrived home on time, looking absolutely furious. At first I was afraid that James or I had done something wrong again and were about to get yelled at, but the real reason for his bad temper was much, much worse.

"Victor…what is it?" asked Mrs. Potter, looking concerned.

"They've done it this time," Mr. Potter snarled. "They've really done it. I didn't want to believe it myself, but there's no denying it now."

"Dad, what are you talking about?" James demanded, his voice oddly high and strangled. I clenched my fists around my fork, bracing myself for the news, but I was unprepared for what came next.

"The Ministry has been infiltrated," he said darkly. Mrs. Potter gasped, but Mr. Potter cut her off. "That's not all. They've passed _this_ rubbish." He threw a Ministry memo onto the table. James, with his Quidditch reflexes, was the first to pick it up. His eyes narrowed as he read the memo:

"'Mandatory Muggle-Born Registration?'" he said incredulously, his eyes raking the page. "What the hell is that?"

"Every Muggle-born is now required by law to register with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Mr. Potter spat. "Effective Monday. They're saying it's so the Ministry can better protect the Muggle-borns, but it's all a ruse. Voldemort is behind this, no doubt about it. He's just trying to round them up…making his little genocide easier…" Mr. Potter's words shook me to my core, and I felt the familiar burn of tears behind my eyelids. I refused to let them fall, but Mrs. Potter appeared to notice that this information was bothering me.

"Victor," she said sharply. The last time I heard her use that voice was when James and I were trying to wriggle out of the pureblood gala. Mr. Potter immediately stopped talking.

"Right. Anyways. Pass the beans, please, Melina."

James and I stared at him. I passed him the beans.

"You can't just do that! Waltz in here talking about genocide and then change the subject!" James exclaimed. "What's going on with this new registration thing?"

"This isn't dinnertime conversation," snapped Mrs. Potter. "Just because we're in the middle of a war doesn't mean we have to talk about it constantly."

"But this is new information!" James pressed. "This is _big_—"

"It's not that big," said Mr. Potter hastily. "Forget I ever said anything. I'm sorry for getting worked up. Let's finish our meal in peace."

"But—"

"_In peace, _James," Mrs. Potter said with such a tone of finality that James had no choice but to grumble to himself and pick at his potatoes. I didn't want to pick a fight with James' parents, but I privately agreed with James—Mr. Potter can't just come in here and announce a new, destructive law and then not answer any questions about it.

The rest of the meal passed alternatively between forced small talk and awkward silence, so I was grateful to finally be excused. Instead of going up to my room or to the library, I went outside for a walk. I needed a bit of fresh air; it had suddenly struck me that the whole Wizarding world was collapsing and I wasn't aware of it. Even at the Potter's I was cut off from all the news. I knew that Mrs. Potter thought she was protecting me, but I really wanted—no, needed—to know what was going on. First, Mason dies. Then, there was this new registration law. There were probably a million other discrimination laws passed that I didn't know about, because the Potters have cut James and I off from news. I mean, they told us a bit. What they thought we needed to know. But we both wanted more.

And this wasn't the first time his parents kept things from us—nor the last. Sometimes, James or I would walk into a room where Mr. and Mrs. Potter were talking in low voices and they would stop very suddenly. I hear them whispering at night whenever I take midnight trips to the bathroom. Some nights, in his anger, Mr. Potter will let something slip, but Mrs. Potter always cuts him off before he tells us anything more.

Mrs. Potter had stopped their subscription to the _Prophet_ weeks ago, but we all knew to some extent that most everything of significance going on in the Ministry was being covered up. There were huge gaps in James and my knowledge; every time Mr. Potter came in, ranting about various Ministry goings-on, we were confused and surprised because we had been led to believe that the war was only a small uprising.

"They've always been really protective of me," James mused one day as we washed the windows in the drawing room. "but I've always known what was going on outside Hogwarts. It must be really horrible if they aren't telling me about it."

"Well, I know why they're not telling _me_," I told him bitterly. "They don't want to worry me. Which is all very nice, but I'm kind of in the line of fire. I need to know what's going on." James nodded in agreement.

"They used to keep us pretty well updated," James observed. "Things must have escalated pretty far."

"No joke," I snorted. "What do you make of this registration law?"

"It's complete and utter bollocks," James replied disgustedly. "The Ministry really _has _gone to the dogs."

"Do you think the Ministry's been infiltrated?" I asked him, trying not to betray any fear in my voice.

"I…wouldn't be surprised," James said, looking serious. "But we don't really know anything, so there's no use assuming and getting worked up over nothing."

"I just don't see the Department of Magical Law Enforcement passing that law without outside influence." James looks directly at me, and under the heat of his gaze, I know that he can read every emotion I'm trying to hide in my eyes.

"Ministry or no Ministry," James tells me, very seriously, "I will die before anyone touches you."

"James," I said, trying to laugh it off because the intensity of his stare and the things he was saying were making me a little uncomfortable. "Don't be dramatic." Very swiftly, James put down the rag he had been using to clean the windows and pulled me into a hug. At first, I stiffened against his touch, but he was warm and smelled of fresh laundry, and so I laid my head on his chest and hugged him back. I could hear him inhale and take in the scent of my hair, and feel his heartbeat against my cheek. Very aware of his hands—one on my back and the other in my hair—I closed my eyes, unable to remember a time where I felt any safer.

"Lily Evans," he whispered, and hearing my name caused my heart to beat wildly. "I meant every word I have ever said to you."

There was such conviction in his voice that I believed him, and a warm feeling passed through my whole body. I felt my eyes start to burn with tears again, but I blinked them away.

"Even all those times you called me a prude?" I asked him, my voice slightly muffled by his t-shirt.

"Even then," James replied, and I could almost hear the smirk in his voice. We separated, and not quiet knowing what to do with myself, I took James' rag and began to wipe the windows. He looked slightly amused—probably due to the fact that I hadn't sprayed any cleaner—but didn't comment.

"I'll write Sirius and Remus tonight," James said casually. "I bet they can give us some news."

"Keep me updated," I told him.

"That's the plan."

For some reason, I can only vaguely remember the rest of the events of the day, but our conversation in the drawing room remains vivid. At the end of the day, I'm lying in my bed, replaying the feeling of James's arms around me over and over again. Those two minutes were emotionally charged enough to move the Earth twice over. He made me feel safer than any disguise or protective spell ever could. His smell has been engrained into my nose, and I can still feel the slight definition of his stomach muscles through my t-shirt. I'm not sure when my thoughts morph into dreams, but I do know that I fall asleep smiling.

* * *

Throughout the week, Mr. Potter continues to come home looking more harried by the day. His is careful not to outburst about the injustices that the Muggle-borns are surely facing, but James and I can still tell that there is something wrong. Meanwhile, Mrs. Potter pointedly ignores the war and continues to plan for her party, happily enlisting James and I to dust, scrub, scour, wash, and shine anything she can think of. When we're not cleaning, James and I usually go our own ways. He will go out and fly, and I'll sit in the library, copying down spells and stealing glances at a certain zooming figure on the Quidditch pitch. Some nights I simply close the curtains because he is becoming so much of a distraction, but sometimes, I allow myself to just watch.

Thursday afternoon, however, James and I are holed up in his room, with the last twelve issues of _The Daily Prophet_ spread out on his bed. Sirius had written back and attached all those newspapers to a very disgruntled owl.

We skim them out of order, pointing out particularly blasphemous headlines to each other. I notice a distinctive and disturbing trend, which I quickly relate to James.

"You can almost _see_ the Ministry being infiltrated by the Death Eaters based on these headlines," I marvel. "Look at this one, from June. 'Eight Muggles Missing From Their Homes—Investigation to Follow.' And then this one, from last week: 'Three Muggle-borns Arrested for Breaking Curfew—'"

"Curfew? What curfew?" James snatches the paper from me, but I explain the article anyways.

"Apparently, Muggle-borns aren't allowed outside between midnight and seven a.m. anymore."

"How is that even enforced?" James murmurs, continuing to consult the article. "The Trace?"

"No, it's impossible to put it on anyone who's of age," I say. "Maybe they're doing it with that registration your dad talked about."

"This is so stupid," James sighs, putting down the paper. "How are we supposed to get the real story out of this pile of dung?"

"We have to read between the lines," I tell him, but James interrupts.

"We can still never know for sure. It's just a load of guesswork."

"We'll just have to ask your parents again the next time something comes up."

"Lily, my dad's not going to let anything else slip," James says, ruffling his hair. Instinctively, I grab his wrist and pull it away from his head. James looks surprised, but doesn't pull away. There is a moment of silence where I swear I can feel his pulse quicken in my hand, before he says, "What're you holding my hand for, Evans?"

I blush and drop his wrist. "I've always hated it when you do that," I say quickly.

"What, this?" He ruffles his hair.

"Yes, that! It makes you look stupid."

"Been thinking about how I look, eh?" James flashes me a winning smile.

"Aren't we supposed to be discussing how to get information out of your parents?" I change the subject abruptly, hoping James doesn't notice the slight flush creeping onto my cheeks. "Why don't we just try asking them for information?"

"Yeah, because that's worked so well in the past," James replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes. I sigh.

"Do you have any better ideas?"

* * *

"How was work today, Dad?" James asks at dinner that night. I am sitting across from him and again I barely touch my potatoes, too involved in trying to get answers to bother with eating.

"It was fine, James," says Mr. Potter in a completely unconvincing voice that reeks of exhaustion and exasperation. "Have you worked out the final dinner menu for tomorrow, Frances?"

"Yes, I finalized it just today," Mrs. Potter replies. I feel like I'm watching an episode of _I Love Lucy_; a family of four, sitting down for a meal and civilly discussing a dinner party. The father has just come home from work, the mother has spent the day cleaning, the son plays sports, and the daughter studies. We're like our own little 1950s sitcom. Except it's an act.

"Any more Death Eater attacks?" I ask, dropping all pretense. Mrs. Potter drops her fork.

"Melina, we are not discussing this at dinner," Mr. Potter tells me.

"When can we discuss it, then?" James demands.

"Later, James—"

"No," I say, my voice stronger than I actually felt. "I want to know what's going on."

"Lily, we don't want to upset you—"

"We are in the middle of a war and I'm being targeted," I say bluntly, looking everyone at the table in the eye. "I think we've passed 'upset.' I need to know. I don't want to be kept in the dark."

There is silence at the table, and James is the first to break it.

"Mum, you always do this. I want to know what's going on, too," he says. "Like you said, Dad, I need to grow up, right? And that means knowing what's happening with all this."

I look at James, and he gives me the tiniest of nods, causing my blood to rush a little bit. Mr. and Mrs. Potter look at each other. Mr. Potter takes a deep breath to steady himself before speaking.

"I apologize for losing my temper," he said slowly, "but I don't feel comfortable divulging the gory details of this war to children."

"We aren't children," James and I say at once.

"It's people like _me_ they're hunting. I deserve to know how they're doing it," I say stubbornly, while James nodds in agreement.

"You don't have to give us the gory details," James continues. "But you can't just walk in every few weeks, raging about some giant issue that we've been in the dark about. It's a bit unnerving."

"James. Melina," Mrs. Potter says gently. "I know you want to get involved, but you're not of age and—"

"Frances," Mr. Potter interrupts. "They're right. They are both turning seventeen next year, and I know I'll have a job stopping either of them from fighting once they leave here. It's better they hear everything from me, instead of going back to Hogwarts completely uninformed aside from the garbage in the _Prophet._"

"Alright," sighs Mrs. Potter, and Mr. Potter turns to James and I.

"So. What do you want to know?"

James and I look at each other. There is so much I don't know that I don't know where to start. I also know that there was so much disturbing information out there that I'm afraid to find out things I didn't want to know. I swallow the fear—at this point, I have to know it all, whether it is good news or bad news. James takes the first question.

"What's the death toll?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that," Mr. Potter sighs, "because I don't know. Everyone has lost track. There have been so many disappearances and killings that go unreported. The Death Eaters specialize in subtlety. Recently, we have been identifying the dead, only to find that there was no record that the person ever existed. That was our first clue that the Ministry had been infiltrated—someone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has been tampering with the census."

"I didn't know wizards had a census," I say.

"It's not the same as a Muggle census," Mr. Potter explains. "There are no forms to fill out. Once a child with magical blood is born, they are automatically put on a list to attend a magical school. Once the child graduates, they are listed in the Worldwide Wizarding Directory by name only. This is used, not for demographic information, but for the benefit of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Blood status has never been listed before, but now, with this new act, every Muggle-born's name will be highlighted in red."

I shudder at the thought of my name standing out among the rest of the names in the Directory, making me even more vulnerable for attack. "What about my name? Am I listed under, 'Lily Evans,' or 'Melina Potter?'"

"Melina Potter," replies Mr. Potter. "The Death Eaters aren't the only ones tampering with the Directory…although I daresay our side is doing it for much more noble reasons."

"In his last letter, Sirius told me that Davenport's Wizardwear has been closed down," James says. "He reckons is because of Davenport being Muggle-born…"

"He's quite right," Mr. Potter confirms ruefully. "No one knows what's happened exactly, but from what we understand, Davenport was threatened by the Death Eaters, who forced him to close shop or be killed. Even a few of my co-workers have expressed that they don't think Muggle-borns should be allowed to sell Wizarding products, because they're not 'worthy.' It's absolutely sickening."

"What does it matter if a Muggle-born is selling a product?" I want to know. "It's the same pair of robes or cauldron or whatever no matter who's selling it."

"That's a complicated question," Mr. Potter says, running his hand through his thinning hair. Perhaps James got that habit from his father. "Some don't like the idea of having to pay a Muggle-born for a product that is Wizard-made because they believe Muggle-borns stole their magic. Others consider anything touched by a Muggle-born to be tainted, and refuse to be associated with any of them. Others still don't want Muggle-borns in positions of power of any kind."

I can't say I'm a fan of that answer, so I ask another question. "What else has been going on? We know about the curfew and the registration—what other anti-Muggle-born measures have been taken?"

"There are…quite a few, I'm sorry to say. The Wizengamot, for one, have just heard a case in favor of changing the official blood status title of Muggle-borns to 'Mudbloods.' There's no ruling on it yet—don't be alarmed. Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock; he'll never let it pass. There's legislation in the works to make it law for all Muggle-born shop owners to either become a partner with a Pureblood, or sell or give up their shop. And the school governors have been talking about not letting Muggle-borns in Hogwarts—"

"What?" James and I exclaim together.

"No need to panic," Mr. Potter says quickly. "I'm just giving you the facts. But if Dumbledore has anything to say about it, that's not going to be a problem."

"_Does _Dumbledore have anything to say about it?" James wants to know. Mr. Potter hesitates a bit before replying.

"Dumbledore is the only one Voldemort ever feared," Mr. Potter tells us. "Voldemort will never target Hogwarts as long as he is there." We wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. For the first time in this conversation, I feel that Mr. Potter is keeping something from us.

We talked long into the night, about new restrictions on Muggle-borns, recent attacks, and Voldemort's possible whereabouts until Mrs. Potter shoed us off to bed, reminding us of the ball the next day. James and I traipsed upstairs in silence, our heads spinning with new information. I collapsed on my bed without bidding James goodnight, and fell into a restless sleep, wondering if I really had wanted to know everything I knew now.

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**A/N: **And there you have it! Thanks to all my 23 (!) reviewers: Fangalitius, Akt5us, , MissArtemisFowl, isigirl, amy-x-ian-forever, pigckle8, Bri, arelli-black, okok123, aspentree11, IckleblueeyedWitch, ICkraM3, Lady Aleksandra (you are SO sweet ), H o r I z o n s, Oriel Subtle, TeenTypist, ilovemybestfriends, Ulin, .chocolate (THANK YOU!), Tarantallegra, mediwitch3, and xLycheeRAiN! You guys are so awesome! Next chapter will be the Potter's gala, so stay tuned!


	10. The Order of the Phoenix, Part 1

**A/N: **Hello, dear readers! I'm so sorry about the month-long hiatus…I hit a sticking point with this story! There were about four directions this chapter could have taken, and I finally decided on this one. Thanks so much for your patience, and I really hope you enjoy how the chapter came out! It's a little shorter than usual, but I wanted to end it where I did.

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**Chapter 10: The Order of the Phoenix, Part 1**

Nine o'clock comes quickly, and before I know it, I'm standing next to James in the Potter's ballroom, anxiously awaiting the arrivals for the gala.

"You look beautiful," James whispers in my ear, and I flinch a little, unprepared for the brush of his lips against my ear. I blush and look up at him; he's smiling. So am I.

The squeaky, high-pitched voice of a House-Elf interrupts are little moment, and blushing, I look at my toes. I can hear James snicker a little at my reaction and I resist all urge to kick him.

"Presenting: Monsieur, Madame, and Monsieur Rosier!" The first family has arrived. The Potters' briefed me on the gala procedure: The family's House Elf announces their entrance, and then we must greet everyone as they enter the hall. I feel James stiffen next to me, and I know why: Evan Rosier is a year above us at Hogwarts, a Slytherin, and with his dark hair, thin body, and hooked nose, he is one of the most frightening people I have ever met. He's one of Severus' friends, one of the ones in line to become Death Eaters—I had to report him to Dumbledore last year for attacking a First-Year Hufflepuff. However, I hold my composure as he and James share a tense handshake, and he moves on to me. When he bows and brushes my hand with his lips, it's all I can do not to pull away in disgust.

"Presenting: Sir and Madame Bartholomew Prewett, and Young Masters Prewett!"

The next family is one that is much more familiar. The Prewett kids were Gryffindors, like us. Fabian was Head Boy three years ago, Gideon was Quidditch captain last year, and Molly is a Prefect, like me. The Potters greet them like old friends, and James greets the three children with unnecessary bravado:

"Fabian, my boy! Gideon, good sir! It is splendid to see you again, truly _splendid_. I must say, you look simply _dashing_ this even—" Mr. Potter clears his throat and James stops, extending his hand to shake, but all the Prewetts are stifling laughter.

By the end of an hour, I can see why James dislikes these galas so much. I am exhausted from wringing the hands of every Pureblood who walks in the door. When finally the last family, the Malfoys, who arrive "fashionably late," have been greeted, I am ready to drop dead.

"Holding up okay?" James asks me, the twisted smile he had plastered onto his face dropping.

"Glad that's over," I reply. "You weren't kidding…this isn't fun."

"Well, the worst is over…so long as you can avoid the nasty ones the rest of the night. Let's get some Butterbeers, shall we?"

The orchestra has began to play, but most everyone is still mingling rather than dancing. James takes me over to the refreshment table, and hands me a Butterbeer.

"So, what do we do now?" I ask James, sipping my drink.

"Now, we do our best to avoid all these Ministry goons and Pureblood supremacists and try to have an enjoyable evening."

We smile at each other and stand somewhat awkwardly. I find it a bit weird—I have had my fair share of awkward moments with James, but lately they have been few and far between. We have slipped into this easy, fun friendship, but in this moment, I feel something shift. He's looking at me, and there's a certain longing in his eyes that I recognize from years off scoffing at it. I can feel a burning behind my eyes too, and a clawing need in my stomach, and for the first time, I feel a wave of…of…of _something_ wash over me, and it feels good. It feels like the flood gates have opened and I am now free-falling into my stupid little crush on James.

I thought this would be scary. I thought it would make me want to turn and run, but instead, I feel a rush of adrenaline—the same one I have felt for years when we rowed, or when I stole that book, or that day we practiced dueling—and I act on my instinct. I grab his hand, flash him my most winning smile, and say,

"C'mon, let's dance."

He looks surprised at this reversal of roles—usually it's James who is trying to get me to do daring things (if you can call initiating a dance "daring")—but grins all the same and puts down his drink.

"What has gotten into you?" he asks, laughing as he spins me onto the dance floor.

"I suppose it's the butterbeer," I tell him.

We are the center of attention for a few moments, but soon enough, other couples follow suit and dance as well. James is a terribly awkward dancer, but, like everything else he does, it's endearing. His hand rests, tense, between my shoulder blades and his steps are choppy and extremely ungraceful, but his smile is as easy as ever.

"I don't know if you're aware, but you're not actually supposed to step on my feet," I tell James, wincing as, for the third time, he trods on my toes. James spins me out and then twirls me back into him, so I'm pressed against his chest, face level with his shoulders.

"I can't help it if you make me nervous," he says quietly, before spinning me back out to a respectable distance. The song ends there, and blushing furiously, I clap along with the rest of the crowd. I sneak a glance at James, and I catch him looking at me, but instead of turning away, we let our eyes meet. I'm not blushing anymore; I realize I'm not embarrassed by my feelings for him anymore, and I'm unafraid. I have allowed myself to feel what I have been repressing for so long, and though it's only been five minutes, these last five minutes have been so magical that I can't seem to remember why—

"Melina, may I have the next dance?"

Frank Longbottom jerks James and I from our moment, but I have no idea what he just said.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, will you dance with me?" asks Frank.

I glance at James, who is suddenly very interested in the punch table. "I'm going to get more drinks. See you guys later."

Left alone with Frank, I have no choice but to take his hand and let him lead me back onto the dance floor. Frank is a much better dancer than James, leading me and taking care not to step on me, but I still prefer dancing with James.

"Are you enjoying your holidays?" I ask, trying to strike up a conversation.

"Oh yes, it's been great," says Frank. "My family went down to Italy for a few weeks, and I've spent the rest of it with Alice."

"Alice! How is she?" I ask, a little too eagerly.

"She's doing well. I wasn't aware you two were close."

"We aren't," I say hastily. "I was just…wondering how she was, you know."

Frank tells me more about Italy, and more interestingly, about Alice. The more I hear about her, the more it pains me that I can't speak to her. And even though I'm at a ball in a beautiful dress and dancing with a nice boy, I can't help but slip back into my old cycle of thoughts: what if I'm stuck as Melina forever? I'll have lost my old friends, my old family…my entire _life_. The reality of never being able to be Lily Evans again is devastating, and—

"Melina? Are you alright?"

I realize the song is over, and I'm still standing in the same position. Embarrassed, I nod, and a second later, James is at my side.

"Mum needs you," he says, adding coldly: "See you later, Frank." James steers me away.

"What does your mum need?" I ask.

"Nothing," James says sheepishly.

"I can't believe you!" I say, not sure if I'm angry. "You just didn't want me dancing with him!"

"Well—"

"He has a girlfriend, you great prat," I say, laughing, and he looks intensely relieved that I'm not biting his head off.

"He also has eyes, and everyone can see you're the prettiest girl here," James tells me and I'm very aware that he is charming me.

"Don't let people overhear you calling your _sister_ that," I remind him with a smirk. "They might get ideas."

Before James can assert his counterpoint, an old, portly wizard in a top hat meanders over to where we are standing.

"James, m'boy!" he exclaims, wringing James' hand vigorously.

"H-hello, Mr. Dingwall," he replies, taken by surprise and forcing a smile.

"How have you been?" Mr. Dingwall booms, and before James can reply, Mr. Dingwall is speaking again. "Your father speaks highly of you. How did those O.W.L.s turn out?"

While James rattles off his admittedly impressive O.W.L. scores, I try to slip away, preferring not to be the third wheel to this conversation, but Mr. Dingwall notices my movement and his attention is directed towards me.

"And you must be Miss Melina!" he says loudly, and I nod. He bows and kisses my hand—James catches my eye and doubles over laughing. I take my hand away as soon as Mr. Dingwall has finished greeting me and subtly wipe it off on my robes. "Are you approaching your sixth year as well?"

"Yes," I say. "James and I are twins."

"Of course, of course! Tell me, what are you two up to next summer?"

I look at James, who looks as bewildered as I feel, and he replies, "Um, not sure at the moment."

"Well, if you're interested, I know a few people in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes who would be interested in having the Potter's kids as interns next summer."

I don't know how to respond to this; an internship at the Ministry of Magic as a sixth year? This is unheard of! But James says, "Thank you for the offer. Will you excuse us?"

And he steers me off in the other direction.

"James! Why didn't you accept?" I demand. "An internship? That's a big deal!"

"Lily—"

"Sh!"

"—how naïve are you?" James presses on, ignoring my protest at the use of my name. "Don't you know what they are doing?"

"Offering us an internship, perhaps?"

"They're only—" James seems to realize how loudly he is speaking, as he is attracting the attention of at least four other people, so he pulls me over to the bar and tells me in a low voice, "They're only offering it because we are purebloods. Or at least, they think _you_ are. That man we just spoke to? Mr. Dingwall? He is part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and a few years ago he tried to force through a bill allowing the Ministry to test the blood status off all its employees."

I stand there, dumbstruck, as James continues to explain.

"He's not the only one. Most of the Ministry goons here are going to try and recruit us, because they want as many purebloods in the Ministry as possible."

"How do you know?"

"I've just told you! You heard him: _we would be happy to have Potters in the Ministry._ Did he ask us for a resume? Or if we were interested at all in a career with Magical Accidents and Catastrophes? He didn't even ask for _your_ O.W.L. scores. And those internships? Those are for wizards who have graduated and _applied_. Doesn't that sound a bit fishy to you?"

He's right, of course, and I feel stupid for not seeing it.

"You're more clever than I give you credit for," I tell him.

"That's okay. I give myself enough credit for the both of us," he says, flashing his most dazzling smile. I roll my eyes—this has got to be one of the most true things James has ever said. As I look at him, I realize that the moment has passed, and yet, I don't look away. James' smile widens. "Do you want to—"

"James!"

It's Gideon and Fabian Prewett, holding bottles of firewhisky. At first, I notice James' face fall, but he hitches his gleaming smile back as Gideon claps James on the back. "How've you been, mate?"

"Not bad, not bad," James says, shaking hands again with Fabian and then with Gideon. "Done with O., so I don't have to worry about school for another…two years or so." I scoff under my breath, and Gideon looks up at me for the first time.

"That's the spirit," Fabian tells James, which surprises me slightly, considering his previous Head Boy position.

"Care to introduce us to your lady friend?" Gideon says to James, gesturing towards me with his firewhisky.

"Oh! Uh, this is Melina," James says, patting my shoulder awkwardly, and I see identical waves of understanding pass over Gideon and Fabian's faces. "My sister."

"Your…sister," Gideon repeats, his eyes darting from my face to my hair and hands, making me feel extremely self conscious.

"Yes, my sister, so stop looking at her like she's a piece of pie, because she's not for sale," snaps James.

"My apologies," says Gideon, but he steps closer to me.

"What are you—" I begin, but Gideon whispers in my ear,

"Brown hair suits you, Lily."

Startled, I take a step back, a look of horror on my face. James stares at Gideon and I, apparently wondering what he told me, but I don't tell him. Instead, I try to recompose my face into an expression of confusion.

"It's Melina, actually," I tell Gideon and Fabian, as smoothly as I can. "My name is Melina."

"Of course," Gideon says, winking. "My mistake."

The four of us stand in tense silence, James and I trying to decide what we make of this new development. I look to James for direction, as if to ask whether I should continue to insist that I am Melina, or recite the family tree as proof of my fake ancestry, or if the jig is up. When James does nothing, I try to laugh off the situation.

"Looks like you two have had a little too much to drink," I say airily, in what I hope is a convincing tone. However, before I can think of anything clever to change the subject, James has seized Gideon's forearm.

"C'mon," he growls. "You too."

Fabian and I follow James and Gideon out of the ballroom, trying to attract as little attention as possible. Despite our sneaky attitudes, I feel a pair of eyes on the back of my neck. Sure enough, when I took around the ballroom, out of the corner of my eye, I see a sinister-looking man and his sharp-featured date observing our exit, and I give him a small smile as if to tell him that he should not be suspicious. However, when our eyes meet, I feel a thrill of icy dread run through my body. I quickly look away and walk slightly faster.

"James," I whisper, but he brushed me off. James is walking so briskly that I have to lift the bottoms of my dress robes slightly in order to keep up. He leads us down the hallway and into the Potter's kitchen, where a House-Elf is washing some dishes.

"Get lost," James says to the House-Elf, who makes a hasty bow before scurrying off. Once James is certain she is out of earshot, he rounds on Gideon. "Why did you call her, 'Lily?'"

"Will you let go?" Gideon jerks his arm out of James' grip.

"Why did you call her that?" He is shouting now, and I want to tell him to keep his voice down, but he looks so intense that I'm afraid to intrude.

"Are you off your rocker?" Gideon asks James. "Relax, mate, we know you're hiding her."

"My name is Melina," I insist loudly, but to my displeasure, no one pays me any attention.

"James, calm down. Everyone in the Order knows where the Muggle-borns are hidden."

"The _Order_? Order of what?" James demands. Fabian and Gideon look at each other with expressions of disbelief.

"Is he being serious?" Gideon asks his brother, who shakes his head.

"I can't tell."  
"He can't possibly be serious—his father practically runs the damn thing—"

"What does my father run?" James asks, raising his voice slightly again and making everyone in the room flinch. In a much quieter voice, Fabian says,

"You mean you really don't know?"

"Okay, _listen_, you two," I snap quietly, though exasperated. "We have no idea what the bloody hell you're talking about and one of you is going to explain yourselves _right now_—" I jab my finger at each of their chests in turn to emphasize my point, "—or I swear I will curse off your ears!"

"Okay, okay!" Gideon puts his hands up as if in surrender. "C'mon, let's go somewhere a bit more…private." Gideon looks around the room as if expecting to find someone eavesdropping. My eyes follow his, half-expecting to see the sinister man who watched us leave, and though there is no one in the room, James looks immediately concerned. Quickly, he leads us upstairs, past my room and his room and into the Observatory. As I hear the soft click of James closing the door behind us, I look at the glass wall in front of me, entranced by the beautiful night sky. It reminds me slightly of the ceiling of the Great Hall.

"So. Explain," says James. It's an order, not a request.

"Is this room soundproof?" asks Fabian, and James shakes his head, "no." Fabian mumbles a few spells, his wand aimed at the door. "We can't be overheard."

"Now, look," says Gideon, as his brother mutters protective enchantments. "The only reason we are telling you this is because of your dad, and you two are probably on the list to join once you come of age—"

"What list?" I ask.

"Join what?" James says at the same time, losing patience.

"Calm down, I'm about to tell you, aren't I?" Gideon tells us, annoyed. "Anyways, all of this is very top-secret, and I really can't believe that you don't know it already, so I'll tell you. But you have to understand that if you reveal this information, it could cause the death of other wizards. Do I have your word that you won't breathe a sentence of what I'm about to tell you?"

"Yes," says James, without hesitation, but I don't speak so quickly. Suddenly, I don't really want to know the answer.

"And Lily?" prompts Fabian. James looks at me, and I swallow before nodding as well.

"You have my word," I tell the brothers, feeling so uneasy that I forget to protest the use of my real name.

"Good. I trust that you will keep it," Gideon says, not a trace of joking on his face. He pauses before continuing. "Have either of you ever heard the name, 'The Order of the Phoenix?'"

"No," James and I say together.

"Well, it's for all intents and purposes, a resistance group, against Voldemort," Gideon explains. "Dumbledore himself founded it about three years ago."

"It was the same year I graduated from Hogwarts," Fabian adds. "Right as things were starting to get bad. One morning at breakfast, towards the end of the year, I received an owl at breakfast that I did not recognize. The note attached to his leg was only a few lines, and I still remember exactly what it said: '_I request your presence in my office at nine o'clock this evening. Share this with nobody. Dumbledore.'_ At first I thought it might be Head business, but I couldn't figure out what Head Boy duties I had that needed to be kept secret.

"So I went to Dumbledore's office that night. I didn't know the password, but the Gargoyle seemed to know I was coming, and jumped aside. I went upstairs, and to my surprise, I wasn't the only one in attendance. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, of course, but there were four other students there as well. Amelia Bones, my fellow Head Girl from Ravenclaw, Sturgis Podmore, from Hufflepuff, Caradoc Dearborn, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, and Dorcas Meadowes, an expert dueler and also a Gryffindor…"

_"Good evening, everyone," said Dumbledore, and though he spoke warmly, his eyes had lost their familiar twinkle. "I daresay you have been wondering what I have called you here for."_

_We all nodded our heads as if synchronized. _

_"Please, take a seat." Dumbledore waved his wand, and five chairs materialized. We took our seats nervously, and without speaking. We were all confused as to why we were there; I gathered by the way she looked at me that Amelia, like myself, had assumed this was Head business. Dearborn, who was called to Dumbledore's office every other week for some broken rule or another looked relieved that he was not getting a detention, but perplexed as to what was going on. Sturgis looked nervous, his hands twitching in his lap and his foot tapping against the chair leg, while Dorcas looked at the floor. _

_"I assume you have heard the terrible news about the Muggle murders in Pembrookshire," Dumbledore continued. I had, of course—twelve Muggles had been killed in their sleep, for no reason. "The violence in our world has escalated to a point at which it can no longer be ignored. Lord Voldemort must be stopped."_

_Not one person in the room flinched at the sound of Voldemort's name, and I knew immediately why each of us had been selected. _

_"I have formed a resistance group," said Dumbledore, "of witches and wizards who want to end Voldemort's terrible regime. I hope each of you will consider joining upon your graduation."_

_Dumbledore paused, and everyone looked at each other in nervous excitement. _

" _It is a noble cause, and I am convinced that you are all up to the task. However, this should not be a thoughtless undertaking. You will have to carefully weigh the risks before accepting a position. As a member of the Order of the Phoenix, you will be on the front lines of battle. You may be asked to spy. You may be away from family and friends for extended periods of time. You will have to lie to the people you love to keep everyone safe. And there is a chance that you will die for this cause."_

_The room was hot and thick with tension. At the word, "die," several of us shifted uncomfortably. But Dumbledore continued on._

"_This is not a decision to be taken lightly. However, I encourage you not to let fear of death stand in the way of the opportunity to stop Lord Voldemort and end his tyranny. You have one month to weigh this decision, but be warned: you must not discuss this with anyone. I have placed a taboo on the words, 'Order of the Phoenix.' If one of you chooses to speak them, I will know, and there will be consequences. If you chose not to participate, I will ask that you allow me to modify your memory so you don't accidentally betray the secret. Is that understood?"_

_Everyone nodded. _

"_Excellent. Well, then off to bed with you," Dumbledore told us, as if dismissing us from a meal or a class, not a meeting of a secret resistance organization. Slightly awkwardly, we stood to leave. Dorcas, Caradoc, and I bade goodnight to Amelia and Sturgis, but did not speak all the way back to Gryffindor tower. It was only after we passed through the portrait hole to find the common room empty was any word spoken._

"_Are you two going to join?" asked Caradoc. There was no need to specify what he was talking about._

"_Yes," said Dorcas, with no hesitation. "Yes, I plan to join."_

"_As do I," Caradoc nodded. Dorcas turned to me._

"_What about you, Fabian?" _

"_Yes," I told them. "Of course I will. Do you think the others will as well?"_

"_I don't see why they wouldn't," Dorcas replied, shrugging. "It's an honor, to fight. What choice do we have?"_

"That is how the Order of the Phoenix was born," Fabian finishes. James and I have listened in rapt silence. "For the past three years, we have worked towards thwarting Voldemort in any way we can. When Gideon became of age, Dumbledore asked him to join as well. I believe Frank Longbottom has also been asked. Your parents play a big role in this," Fabian tells James. "Your father is often sent off on missions multiple times per month."

"You mean…all that time he's away from home, he's working for the Order, not the Ministry?" says James slowly.

"Yeah," Fabian replies.

"But he's an Auror!"

"Aurors are exactly what the Order needs," Gideon says. "He still works for the Ministry—he's a spy, actually."

"Wow." James face has darkened. He sits down on a chair near the glass wall, absorbing all the information.

"I want to fight. Now," I say, surprising even myself.

"You're too young!" Gideon tells me.

"What, and two years is going to make a difference?" I ask. "I want to go to Dumbledore and ask to join."

"You can't, you're in hiding!" Fabian exclaims. "Joining the fight will undo everything!"

"What use am I in hiding?" I tell Fabian defiantly. "I'm endangering everyone around me! I'm not helping anybody here. I'm making everything worse."

"When you're seventeen—"

"There is no difference between sixteen and seventeen. I want to fight."

There is silence. Gideon and Fabian seem to be unable to find the best response, and James is looking at me, his face composed in an expression I can't understand.

It is then that I hear the _bump._

"What was that?" I say quietly and urgently. "Did you hear that?"

"It's probably just a rat," says Gideon, trying not to sound worried.

"We don't have rats," James says slowly.

"A House-Elf?"

Instinctively, all four of us move closer together.

"_Homonem revelio," _says Fabian, waving his wand. His face goes white.

"What?" I whisper. "Fabian, what is it?"

"There…there's someone in here."

* * *

**A/N: **There's Part 1 of the Potter Gala! Stay tuned for Part 2, which will be released in two weeks! I know a lot of you expected James and Lily to get together during this chapter, which is an idea I toyed with a bit, but…it's so cliché. I didn't want to use the ball as an excuse for them to start making out, ya know? Shout-outs to EmiliaGrace, sugarquills-and-lillies, Lilyandjamesfan, , tessa, IrishSkittle101, marinewife08, Akt5us, ilovepuffystickers, Bri, movinggirls, H o r i z o n s, Ulin, Oriel Subtle, pigckle8, Aspentree11, TheOneBehindItAll, isigirl, okok123, buddygirl1004, SpencerReidFan89, The Yams of Gondor, xLycheeRAiN, brieetard, Fangalitious, and TeenTypist for their incredibly motivating reviews I love you guys! Please let me know what you think about this one!


	11. The Order of the Phoenix, Part 2

**Chapter 11: The Order of the Phoenix, Part 2**

I draw my wand from the inside of my dress robes, eyes darting around the room.

"Who are you?" Fabian calls. "Show yourself!"

The spy stayed silent. I felt James move closer to me, his wand drawn and eyes intense.

"Show yourself!" Fabian calls again.

A jet of red light shot out from near the door, and all four of us threw ourselves onto the floor, out of the way of curse. Stumbling to my feet, I managed to untangle myself from the mass of bodies first and threw a Stunning spell on the general direction of the door. The curse hit the wall and bounced off, narrowly missing Gideon.

"Lily, stay behind me!" James grabs my wrist and pulls me close to him. My heart starts to beat faster, but this is no time for hormones. I wrench my arm from his grip.

"No! I'm fighting!"

Another jet of light erupts from the wand of our invisible attacker, and we all duck again.

"Coward!" Gideon shouts, aiming a curse at the corner of the room. The invisible attacker responds with another jet of light.

"There! By the curtains!" James shouts, aiming a curse in the direction of the red light. I send three spells in succession to follow James', and this time only two of them bounce off the wall.

"I think I hit him!" I yell to the others. "Aim there!"

Fabian, Gideon, and James shoot their spells where I tell them, and the spy responds with another two spells. James and Fabian duck, but Gideon is not fast enough and is launched backwards.

"Gideon!" I exclaim, running over to where he is lying, unconscious, on the floor. "_Ennervate! Ennervate!"_ I jab my wand at Gideon, but he doesn't wake. It must not have been a Stunning spell.

"Leave him, Lily!" Fabian tells me, shooting more spells at random.

A spell grazes my shoulder, and I dive out of the way. Leaving Gideon reluctantly, I rejoin the fray.

"What was that?" James yells. "There, look! There it is again!"

I see it too. It's the edge of a cloak. The fabric whips through the air, and I aim a spell at it.

"He's under a Disillusionment charm!" I exclaim. "It's wearing off!"

Fabian sends a curse in the direction of the flying fabric, but the spy deflects it. James aims a curse high at the same time as I aim a curse low, and we hear a low grunt.

"I think we got him!" James exclaims, but he has spoken too soon. Fabian cries out, and when we whirl around to him, we meet the same fate.

Three men stand in the doorway, wands raised, and they send ropes flying out to bind us together. It happens to fast for me to block, and my arm, pinned against Fabian's. The spy's Disillusionment Charm has worn off, and I gasp as I recognize him as the sinister man who watched us leave the ballroom. However, upon closer observation, I realize that he is not a man at all; he can't be much older than Fabian. He smirks and joins the other three men, who are advancing on us.

"Take their wands, Nott," he orders, and one of his cronies nonverbally disarms us.

"Avery," Fabian spits. "Why am I not surprised?"

Avery. I recognized the name. He graduated several years above James and I, and whenever I heard his name pronounced while in school, it was out of fear.

"Ah, Fabian Prewett," says Avery, the sinister man, silkily. "I hoped we would meet again.

"Clearly," says Fabian dryly. "Hiding behind doors? Disillusionment charms? Doesn't sound at all like you wanted to meet us at all."

"Is this really the place for sarcasm?" Avery replied lightly. "We have wands. You do not. I'd watch my mouth if I were you."

"Bloody coward," James tells Avery. "You only show yourself when you've got three mates behind you and your opposition tied up and disarmed."

"You can talk of cowardice and bravery all you like, but no one is going to be thinking about bravery at Lily Evan's funeral."

I feel my blood run cold.

"So that's it, then?" I say, with strength I didn't know I had. "You're just going to kill me, right here?"

"Avery, I'm sick of all this talk," interrupts one of Avery's cronies, the tallest and broadest of them all. "Let's call the Dark Lord already."

"Dolohov, I believe it was _I_ who was put in charge of this mission," Avery snaps. "I decide when the Dark Lord is called."

"Just let me know when you've finished gloating," Dolohov grumbles. Avery ignores this slight and rounds on us again.

"Your fate is up to the Dark Lord," Avery tells me, and I am disgusted by the sick reverence in his voice when he speaks his master's title. "However, Mudbloods are rather expendable to him. The Prewett and Potter boys will prove to be far more useful—"

"DON'T YOU DARE CALL HER THAT!" James roars at Avery, and the sheer volume makes him flinch. However, he is quick to hitch his face back, and laughs softly.

"I'd watch your mouth if I were you," Avery says softly. "You can't hide behind your blood status much longer; blood traitor is just as bad as Mudblood scum—"

"Lily is four times the wizard you are," James snarls. "If you were half the person she is, you would untie us and fight me like a man."

Avery simply laughs.

"I don't think you understand; I don't care. All that matters is that I have won and you have lost. How these things come about is inconsequential."

A jet of red light erupts from the door, and Avery falls to the floor, his Stunned face still smirking. James, Fabian, and I turn to the doorway and see Mr. Potter and a man with a scarred face whom I don't recognize with their wands raised.

"_Expelliarmous!" _growls the scarred man, and the wands of Avery's cronies fly into his hand. At the same time, Mr. Potter waves his wand, and strings of golden light bind the three attackers.

"Every time you struggle, those will get tighter," Mr. Potter warns viciously before turning to us. The expression on his face is enough to make me wish he had never intervened; I would prefer a confrontation with Avery. I see James out of the corner of my eye, and he is looking at the ground.

The scarred man goes over to Gideon's motionless body and says, "_Ennervate_." Gideon doesn't stir.

"I already tried that," I tell him. "He's been more than Stunned."

"I'll take 'im to St. Mungo's," says the scarred man to Mr. Potter. "You can deal with this lot."

The man conjures a stretcher out of thin air, levitates Gideon onto it, and Dissaparates.

Without saying a word, Mr. Potter waves his wand and the ropes binding Fabian, James, and I together fall away. We untangle ourselves quickly and sheepishly get up.

Mr. Potter does not turn to us. Instead, he says, softly, "_Expecto patronum_," and a huge stag erupted from the tip of his wand. Speaking directly to the stag, Mr. Potter says, "Three spies are held at the Potter Manor."

He waves his wand again and the stag nodds and gallops through the wall and into the night.

Mr. Potter then conjures up four blindfolds and magicked them over the eyes of the four Death Eaters. For the first time, he turns to us and points to an empty picture frame on the bookshelf. Waving his wand again, it glows blue.

"Take this portkey. Wait for me there. Do nothing else."

His tone is too intense for us to argue, so we file over to the bookshelf and grab hold of the picture frame. I feel the familiar feeling of compression and spinning that comes with portkey travel, and I gasp for air when I feel my feet hit the ground. Fabian and James touch down next to me, and we drop the picture frame.

We are in the dark, so I pull my wand from my dress robes and say, "_Lumos_ _maxima_," and light floods the room. By the looks of it, we are in the kitchen of a small cottage.

"Where are we?" James asks Fabian.

"It's a safehouse," says Fabian. "One of many that the Order utilizes."

"Yes, we'd gathered as much," I say shortly, "but _where_ are we? Specifically?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

"You've already told us loads of stuff you weren't supposed to," I point out, "you might as well just tell us this."

"I can't," Fabian repeated. "I actually physically can't. It's been made Unplottable, and only the secret keepers can say the name of the place. But I've been here before."

He goes over to the cabinets and makes some tea for all of us. James and I sit down at the table and sip our hot tea gingerly.

"Who else is hidden like I am?" I ask Fabian as he sits down across from James.

"I…don't think I should tell you that, either," Fabian replies. "It's not that I don't trust you…it's just…the fewer people who know, the better."

"I understand," I say, sipping more of my tea, though I am disappointed that I'm not permitted to know who else is in the same position as me.

"Are any of them staying here right now?" James asks, and Fabian shakes his head.

"No. We're alone."

Everyone is quiet, and the silence of the house surrounds us eerily. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"So what happens now?" James asks Fabian.

Fabian presses his palms flat against his thighs and sighs. "Damage control."

I can't deny this. Neither can James.

"Your dad's gonna kill us," I groan to James, putting my face in my hands. James rubs my back comfortingly.

"Yeah…he probably will," James admits gloomily.

"Not exactly what I wanted to hear," I say, my voice muffled.

"How long do you think we have left to live?" I hear James ask Fabian. Fabian sighs again, loudly.

"Well, we fucked up. Big time." I hear him sigh again. "I think we're looking at memory modifications for everyone at the party. But I don't think your father can be _too_ angry with you, as this little fiasco here has at least resulted in the capture of four assumed Death Eaters."

"Have you captured many?" I ask, lifting my face from my hands.

"No," says Fabian, running a hand through his curly brown hair. "Unfortunately, they're a bit tricky. We've gotten a few. This lot happened to be a bit dimmer than the rest, however."

"How do you know Avery?" James wants to know.

"We were in school together," says Fabian disgustedly. "He was around two years above me—nasty kid, even in third year. He knew more about Dark magic than the Defense professor. Scared the shit out of me, quite frankly. But he was never too bright. He was held back his fifth year for not getting enough O.W.L.s, and obviously, we never got on well. When I was Prefect, I stopped him from messing with the underclassmen and he didn't appreciate that. I think I took more points from him than I ever took from everyone else combined. We got into a few scrapes, and I think he's been looking forward for a chance to get me since school…although I have to say I feel the same way."

"Well, looks like you won," I say dryly. James yawns loudly, removing his hand from my back so he can stretch. The place where his hand used to be still feels warm. "What time is it?"

"Nearly two in the morning," Fabian replies, checking his watch. "We should probably go to bed."

"Yeah, we're going to need all the strength we can get to make it through my whatever my dad's got planned," James says ruefully. He gets up from the table, and Fabian and I follow suit.

"Where can we sleep?" I ask.

"Well, there's only one bedroom," Fabian says, gesturing to a door off to the right. "Lily, why don't you take the bedroom and we'll sleep in the front room?"

"No way am I letting you two sleep on the floor," I say flatly.

"No, really, it's alright," James insists. "You don't mind, do you, Fabian?"

"Well…actually, I wouldn't mind sleeping on the bed," Fabian admits shiftily. "I mean, it's been a long day." James rolls his eyes at Fabian and I clap my hands together.

"It's settled. Fabian can take the bedroom and James and I will take the front room."

"I think there are some spare blankets in the closet." Fabian goes into the adjacent room and comes out a few moments later laden with blankets. "Here."

James takes them, and we make our way to the front room.

"Let's move this table," I suggest, indicating the coffee table in the middle of the room.

"Why?"

"There's not enough room for both of us on the floor."

"You're not sleeping on the floor," James informs me.

"Then where do you suggest I sleep?"

He spreads the blanket that Fabian gave him on the couch. "There."

"But there's only one blanket," I point out.

"I'm wearing a jacket."

"You're going to be a lot less gallant when you wake up tomorrow morning with a cold," I say, but James seems unfazed.

"But then you'd have to take care of me," James says, eyes twinkling. "Bring me soup, feel my forehead, nurse me back to health…"

I huff, crossing my arms and sending a few tendrils of hair flying from my forehead. James mocks me in an exaggerated manner, pulling a face and messing up his own hair. I hate it when he does that; he somehow manages to make himself sexier. And he knows it.

"If that's how you think it's going to be, then I have news for you, because the instant you ask me for soup I'm going to pour it on your—HEY!" Before I can do a thing about it, James picks me up and in his arms. "JAMES. POTTER. YOU. PUT. ME. DOWN. THIS. INSTANT."

"If you insist," he says, laughing, and he drops me down on the couch.

"_Not_ what I meant!" I try to get off the couch, but James grabs me around the middle and pulls me back. I struggle, hitting his chest, but he just laughs at me, and within a few seconds, I'm laughing too.

"Gotcha," James whispers into my ear, and he pushes me down on the couch so I am lying on my back and he is on top of me, pinning my shoulders down, his face inches from mine.

Is it possible for your heart to go a million miles a minute even though you've stopped breathing?

Neither of us are laughing anymore. I can feel my pulse in my arms, legs, feet, and hands, and when I raise a hand to touch James' chest, I feel his heart beat just as rapidly as mine. I wonder if they are in sync.

Time has slowed down. I watch James blink, and his eyelid moves in slow motion. I want this to happen, but I'm praying that it will last, and I'm glad that everything is happening slowly. It gives me time to feel everything, and commit it to memory.

He is so close that the tips of our eyelashes are almost touching. My body is on fire, and I'm very aware of every place his body touches mine. He draws closer, and I find myself lifting my head, parting my lips, almost against my will—

"Are you guys oka—oh."

James and I spring apart; time has returned to normal speed. Within a millisecond, James is on the other side of the room, and I'm struggling to sit up and look as though nothing had happened.

"We were just—"

"It's not what—"

"Hey, hey, no explanations necessary," says Fabian, eyebrows raised and holding his hands up as if in surrender and walking back to his room. "None of my business. I didn't see a-a-a-anything."

Long after we hear Fabian close his door, James still makes no movement back towards me. Both of us sit, embarrassed and confused, on different sides of the room. I can feel a whole mess of emotions inside of my heart, but the only one I can pick out at the moment is disappointment.

I cover myself with the blanket, and lay down on my side, exhaling.

"So…I guess I'll just take the couch then."

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Potter are in the kitchen when I wake up. Leaving James sleeping on the floor, I carefully step over him, smoothing my dress robes, and take a seat next to Fabian, who is poring over a bowl of cereal. I try not to make eye contact with anyone as I pour my own bowl.

We eat in silence for a time. I don't know if it's a few minutes or half an hour, but I know that Mr. Potter is the first to break it.

"Where is James?" he asks stiffly. Neither Fabian nor I answer; I think we both expect the other person to offer an explanation. After the time allotted for an appropriate response has ended, I say, very shyly, "He's sleeping. On the floor."

"Go wake him up, Frances," Mr. Potter tells his wife. His tone is even.

When Mrs. Potter comes back with James, bleary-eyed and yawning, she doesn't stay in the kitchen. She passes us and goes down the hall, shutting the door of the room Fabian slept in. I swear I hear James gulp.

I'm looking at my hands, which I'm wringing in my lap, as I hear the scrape of a chair across the floor.

"Sit," says Mr. Potter, and I see James do as he says out of the corner of my eye. Bracing myself for the worst, I force myself to look up at Mr. Potter. He paces across the kitchen, and I can feel my palms start to sweat. I wipe them on my dress robes.

"I hope I don't need to tell you how reckless you three were," he says, his voice still even and steady, but I can tell that any moment, he could explode. "Fabian, I am very disappointed in you. You know the rules; you very nearly exposed the entire Order."

Fabian did not reply.

"It makes me wonder whether you are worthy of being a member."

Fabian's head snaps up. "Mr. Potter—"

"You took an oath, Fabian, to never reveal the secrets of the Order to _anybody_. That doesn't just mean Death Eaters, it means _everyone_, and we have that rule to avoid situations like the one we are in now!" His voice seemed to get progressively louder with every word. "You jeopardized your life, your brother's life, and the lives of my children!"

I don't want to be here right now, but I can't see a way out of the situation. I resume my previous practice of not looking at anyone at all, and instead try to focus on picking at my fingernails.

"How—how is Gideon?" asks Fabian tentatively, but anxiously.

"He's fine," Mr. Potter spits. "Moody is staying with him at St. Mungo's."

"I want to go see him."

I notice the way my cuticle is growing over my thumb nail.

"You will do nothing of the kind!" Mr. Potter yells. "Do you realize the position we are in? Are you really that thick? We have been found out!"

"But I thought you arrested Avery," Fabian says.

"Yes, we arrested them, and they now await trial in Azkaban. But we don't know if they had a chance to spread their knowledge before coming to attack you four! We must stay in hiding until we are sure that no one will come for us."

I chip away at the nail on my first finger.

"So…we're going to stay here?" asks James. "For how long?"

"As long as it takes to ensure that no other Death Eaters know that Lily is Melina!" Mr. Potter exclaims, and I feel another pang of guilt in my stomach. The Potter's are so inconvenienced, all because of me. I press my palms onto my thighs to keep from picking at my nails anymore.

"And you two." Mr. Potter rounds on James and I. "What were you thinking, sneaking off by yourselves?"

"We were with Gideon and Fabian!" James protests, but Mr. Potter holds up a hand to silence his son.

"Yes, and look what happened! You knew there were suspected Death Eaters at that party—I would have though my son would have enough sense not to give them a reason to attack!"

"Why did you invite Death Eaters to our house in the first place?" James yells, standing from his chair and advancing towards his father.

"The decisions of the Order of the Phoenix are none of your business!"

"Why not? They're your business, they're Fabian's business—why can't they be mine, too?"

"Because you're sixteen, James!" Mr. Potter throws his hands in the air. "You can't go a month at school without us getting a letter about you Transfiguring someone's fingers into tentacles! You can't think things through! You're reckless, you're irresponsible, and you're underage! You couldn't even keep Lily's secret from Remus. How can I expect you to keep a hundred secrets from the people you love when you can't even keep that _one_?"

"Fabian couldn't keep it, either!" James roars, throwing a hand in the general direction of his friend.

"I'm furious at Fabian, but he is not my responsibility, and I'll be damned if I put my immature teenage son in the line of fire!"

"Maybe if you were around a bit more you would notice that I'm not so immature!"

For a moment, I think Mr. Potter is going to explode, and I try to become as small as possible while sitting in my chair. He takes a breath, and lets it out, and when he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous.

"I am _out there_ trying to make a difference in this world, so maybe you don't have to live like this forever." Mr. Potter takes a step closer to James. "And if you can't understand that, then you are every bit as immature as I think you are."

Without giving James a chance to respond, Mr. Potter turns on his heel and joins his wife in their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

You'd think that sharing a tiny cottage with a family who won't speak to each other would be awkward…and you'd be very, very right. There is only one bedroom, one bathroom, and a kitchen and a living room, which makes avoiding people rather difficult.

The only time I'm alone is in the morning. Everyone else is asleep and I can eat my cereal in peace. As I pour myself a bowl of cereal, I revel in the brief moments where I don't feel obligated to diffuse awkward situations.

"Lily?"

I drop the cereal box in surprise as I turn around in my chair to find James ruffling his hair, still in his pajamas.

"James, you scared me."

He sits down next to me and pulls a bowl in front of him. "Sorry. I just wanted to speak with you."

"Yeah, yeah that's fine," I reply, regaining my composure. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I just wanted to talk… about…this." James seems flustered, and he gestures to the space between us with one hand.

"Oh." As if on command, my heart begins to race.

"I…I know this is probably not a great idea, since the last time I tried to say…anything…we…well…" I let him trail off. He clears his throat. "Anyways."

"So is there anything in particular that you, uh, want to say?" I ask him, trying not to wring my hands or play with my hair out of nerves. For the first time in the entire conversation, he makes eye contact and I see everything that he's about to say in his eyes. They bore into me, exploring my thoughts and feelings, and I can tell that he knows everything about me already. He has a way of seeing through me, every single time.

"Lily," he says in a low voice. "You know how I feel about you. I…I tried to get over you, but I can't and I…I can't explain it. Have you ever known something so…_inherently_…that nothing anyone can say to you to change your mind? I…Lily, it isn't fair, because you know exactly where I stand, and I can't know for sure if you—"

"Good morning!" Mrs. Potter bustles into the kitchen in her dressing gown, making both of us jump. I didn't realize how close we had come to each other. "You two have had enough cereal. Let me—did I interrupt something?"

Her eyes find us for the first time.

"No," I say quickly, but at the same time, James says, "Yes." When he realizes that I have contradicted him, however, he stares at me, and I can see the hurt in his eyes.

"Well, which is it?" Mrs. Potter wants to know, looking bewilderedly between us.

"I think Lily just told you," James tells his mother bitterly, getting up from his chair, and I understand that I have been grossly misunderstood.

"No, James, that's not what I—"

"I'm going to bed," James snaps.

"What in Merlin's name is going on with you two?" Mrs. Potter demands.

"Nothing!" James and I both snap. At least we're on the same page for once.

* * *

Luckily, the protective charms put on the safe house extend through the yard outside, which I discover on the fourth day of our stay. James still won't speak to me, which means I have no close friends for company. I just want to explain to him that I was trying to avoid another awkward situation, but it appears all I've succeeded in doing is creating a new awkward situation. I just can't seem to get anything right, can I?

"Lily!" I hear someone call my name from inside the cottage. I think it's Fabian. "Lily! Come inside!"

He sounds urgent, so I abandon my thoughts and go back into the safe house. I arrive in the kitchen to find Moody and Gideon, who looks a little tired but no worse for the wear.

"Gideon!" I say, and in my relief, I give him a hug. I feel him wince, and I immediately let go. "Sorry. I'm just glad you're alright."

"Thanks, Lily," Gideon says weakly. "We just arrived by portkey."

"What did they do to you?" Fabian wants to know, but Moody shakes his head.

"We still dunno," he says. "The Healers couldn't figure it out. They put him right in the end, though. Must've been some nasty Dark curse, a variation of the Stunning spell."

"We're all glad you're okay," says Mrs. Potter anxiously.

"When is it safe to go home?" James asks Moody, who shrugs.

"We've been working as hard as we can, but it's difficult to know who knows what, especially when they aren't talking," Moody says gruffly. "I'd imagine it'll be at least another month—we're preparing a larger safe house, as this one is a little smaller than ideal."

"I've been meaning to ask something," says Gideon, now sitting at the table. "We put protective enchantments around that room when we explained the Order to James and Lily. How did you guys get in?" He looks at Mr. Potter, who rolls his eyes.

"Fabian said it himself," Mr. Potter says. "There's a taboo on the name. We were tipped off."

"Were you ever going to tell us any of this?" James demands, and I can hear that dangerous quality in his voice that means he is about to argue with someone.

"James…" says his mother warningly, but Mr. Potter holds up a hand to stop her.

"Yes, we were," he replies shortly, "when you were _of age_ and eligible to join. Now, James, Lily, go outside. We have matters to discuss."

"We already know about the Order, so you may as well—"

"James. Go." Mr. Potter points to the door, and his voice is so dangerous that not even James dares to respond. A nasty expression on his face, James follows his father's finger, and doesn't bother holding the door for me. It slams in my face.

I have to jog slightly to catch up with him—he really does have extraordinarily long legs.

"James, wait up."

He only walks faster.

"James, I just want to talk to you. Please hear me out."

"I already heard you, loud and clear," James tells me, still walking ahead.

"You don't understand, I was just trying—"

"No, Lily, _you_ don't understand." James whirls around, and grabs my wrist. "I love you. I am in love with you, and there is no other girl in the world who I could ever compare to you. And I thought that maybe, just maybe, you might feel the same way—"

"But James, I—"

"You lead me on, Lily, knowing exactly how I feel about you!" He's yelling now, and I try to recoil but his hand his still gripping my wrist. "I'm not playing games with you anymore! If you think that this situation is so unimportant that you can't take ten extra seconds to tell me that you love me too, then I'm done."

But before I can tell him that I was just trying to keep Mrs. Potter from asking us awkward questions, or that I have certainly spent more than ten seconds trying to get James to talk to me so I can explain, he drops my wrist and stalks away around the side of the cottage.

* * *

The light wakes me up.

The sun is rising; I can see the chinks of light streaming down from the gaps in the curtains, falling perfectly on James' form, lying on the floor next to the couch. If it weren't for this bit of furniture, I realize, we would be sleeping together. I let my arm fall and brush the top of his head, my fingers lightly running through his silky hair. He is sleeping on his side, and I watch his chest rise and fall for a while, his nostrils flaring slightly with ever breath. There is a smile playing on his lips, and it makes me want to know what he is dreaming about.

I realize that I hope it's me.

"James?" I whisper, my fingers still absently playing with his hair. He shifts a little in his sleep, but doesn't wake up. "James."

"Mmm?" His eyelids flutter, but don't open.

"You know I love you, right?" I say, so softly that it almost doesn't come out.

"Mm-hm." James rolls over onto his stomach.

I let my fingers trail down his cheek. "Good."

**A/N: **So there you have it! Chapter 11! Please tell me what you think-I feel like this chapter was really choppy, but I couldn't think of anything else to put...anyways, you guys did so awesome with your reviews last chapter! When I saw 200, I was like screaming. You guys are AWESOME :) And now since school is out, I will have much more time to write, so updates will come much faster!


	12. Intensity

**A/N:** Wow, I am sincerely sorry for the lack of updates these past six weeks. Things are getting so crazy as I prepare for university that this story was put on the backburner. I hope the drama in this chapter makes up for the wait! I suppose it could have been longer, but I decided in the end that I didn't want everything to happen right away. Anyways, enough of my blabbering and excuses; enjoy chapter 12!

**Chapter 12: Intensity**

For the first time all summer, I've woken up late. I groggily stretch and look down at the floor, but the only thing I see are James' crumpled blankets. I sit up with my stomach growling, and notice that James and Mrs. Potter are sitting at the table. I groan and slump back down, trying to decide if I'm more tired than I am hungry. I close my eyes, but my stomach growls again, and my hunger wins out.

I throw off my blankets and smooth down my undoubtedly disgusting hair, and walk the short distance to the kitchen.

"Good morning," says Mrs. Potter cheerfully as I grab a bowl and sit down at the small table. James doesn't look up from his meal.

"Good morning," I reply, somewhat less cheerfully. "Can you pass the cornflakes?"

There is no reply from James. Mrs. Potter looks between us, and then speaks to her son directly.

"James?"

"Yeah?" he says grumpily, still not looking up.

"Are you going to pass the cornflakes?"

James continues to eat his cereal.

"James?" Mrs. Potter repeats.

"What?" James demands through a mouthful.

"Never mind. I got it," I mumble, reaching for the cereal.

"James!" scolds Mrs. Potter.

"What? She got it, doesn't she?"

"It's okay, Mrs. Potter," I say quietly. "Really."

"It might be 'okay,' but it doesn't mean it wasn't rude," Mrs. Potter scolds.

"It doesn't matter," James snaps, looking up at me for the first time. Our eyes lock. "Lily doesn't like me anyways."

I can't decide whether I want to cry or slap him. I feel my blood boil, and an unexpected rush of hate explodes in my chest. At the same time, I feel something inside of me break, and my stomach seems to have fallen out of my body. What did I ever see in James Potter?

"James!" Mrs. Potter exclaims.

"It's okay, Mrs. Potter," I tell her, without breaking eye contact with James. "James doesn't like me, either."

James slams his spoon down on the wooden table, and I push my uneaten cereal away from me.

"What in Merlin's—"

"Nothing!" James and I both shout, and in unison, we stand and stalk off in opposite directions, leaving Mrs. Potter alone and confused in the tiny kitchen.

* * *

Everything in this stupid fucking cottage is boring. There isn't enough room for anybody to be alone. I hate this. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a box with my least favorite person in the world and his parents. Oh, and not to mention two brothers I barely know, one of whom was sent to the hospital because of my actions. There's nothing to do. How did I survive the summer before this?

Right, I remind myself bitterly. I survived because James and I were on speaking terms.

* * *

"Hey, Lily, how're you doing?" Gideon sits down on the couch next to me. It's been two days since James and my little breakfast altercation, and we haven't spoken since.

"Not too bad," I reply, not sure if I'm lying or not. "And yourself?"

"Better," he says, yawning. "The Healers still have no idea what curse I got hit with, but as long as I don't get hit with it again, I can't say I care."

"Sounds good to me," I say, trying to crack a smile, but I'm pretty sure it just comes off as some kind of creepy leer. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"Why are you apologizing?" Gideon laughs. "_You_ didn't attack me."

"Yeah, but I still feel responsible," I shrug guiltily. "At any rate, I'm sorry it happened at all."

"Don't worry about it. I've had worse injuries."

"Like what?"

Gideon thinks for a moment.

"No, I'm lying," he says. "This is the worst injury I've ever had. But I figure I got off easy."

"How do you figure that?"

Gideon looks around as though expecting someone to be spying on us, and leans in closer to me. "You know Mad-Eye Moody? The man with bits of his face missing?"

"Yeah," I reply, finally attaching a name to the face of the scarred man.

Gideon's voice is lower now. "He's had the Cruciatus Curse put on him. More than once."

I shudder at the thought.

"Wow. Well, by those standards, you got off scot free."

"I don't mind, though," Gideon assures me. "I'd take a hit like that any day if it would help end this war." I say nothing, impressed by his bravery. He goes on: "I got what I signed up for. We all have. I'm lucky…I really thought I'd be dead by now, to be honest with you." The honesty and reality of his words chill me, and I resist the urge to shudder.

"I can't decide if you're really brave, or just really stupid," I say, shaking my head.

"Probably the latter," Gideon chuckles a bit. I can tell he's trying to lighten the mood, but now that we have broached the subject, I want to keep talking. As morbid as it is, I can't help but ask my next question.

"Aren't you…aren't you afraid to die?"

I say it so quietly that I almost think he didn't hear me. He isn't laughing anymore, and he runs a hand through his hair. His face is serious and his eyes are dark as he replies.

"I am afraid to die," he says gravely, his voice dangerously close to cracking. "I'm afraid of a lot of things. But I've found that bravery isn't about not being afraid of something. It's about being scared shitless and doing it anyways."

* * *

The Order, especially Mad-Eye Moody, often pop in and out of the little cottage. Each time, they bring snippets of information from the outside world. Mr. and Mrs. Potter don't seem to care whether or not James and I hear anything anymore—the space is too small to stop anybody from hearing anything.

"We still have Avery in custody, but Crouch won't hear the case for another month."

"Eight Muggles murdered in Pembrookshire this morning. _Eight_! And in broad daylight, too. The nerve…"

"The Lovegoods fled late last night, and with good reason, too. Xenophilius and his stupid little pamphlet are more trouble than it's worth."

"He's getting stronger. There's no denying it. We have to prepare ourselves for the worst."

At first, I tried to hear as much news as possible, but as the days and weeks wore on, I found that I was happier not knowing about every single innocent death and tragedy that was striking the world.

"What's it like?" I ask Fabian one morning.

"What's what like?"

"Being in the Order."

We're sitting outside, watching the sun rise. Fabian is an early riser, like me.

"I dunno," Fabian shrugged, absently pulling some weeds from the grass. "It's okay."

"Come on, Fabian," I say impatiently. "What's it really like?"

"What do you think it's like? It's fucking scary, that's what it's like," Fabian replies. "Everyone dying everywhere…not being able to see your friends…putting your own family in danger…it takes some…adjusting to."

Neither of us look at each other. The sun is almost halfway over the horizon, and I try not to look directly at it. It's so beautiful, but it hurts my eyes to stare.

"If it's so scary, then why are you in it?" I ask him after a while.

"Because," Fabian says slowly, "as scary as it is to be in the Order, I can't imagine how scary it would be to live like this forever. This has to change, you know? And nothing's going to change unless we fight."

I nod, but don't respond. I admire the Prewett brothers for their bravery. They are true Gryffindors, I think to myself. They exemplify what our House stands for: loyalty and selflessness. Putting yourself in danger to help others. They're incredible. How can I possibly compare?

"I want to join, when I'm of age," I tell Fabian. I'm not sure why I say it, but I feel like I have to.

"I know you do."

"I'm seventeen in January. I want to fight. But I'm scared."

I hear Fabian take a breath beside me, but I don't look at him. I don't want him to see the shame in my eyes.

"We're all scared. Everyone is. Me, Gideon, Mr. Potter…even Mad-Eye, though he'll never tell you so. Being scared's part of the deal."

"Do you think…do you think I'll be ready?" I ask tentatively, finally turning to look at Fabian. His eyes are full of sincerity when he replies, "There's no doubt in my mind."

* * *

James and I wake up at the same time the next morning. Just my luck. I try to fall back to sleep, but James makes eye contact with me and I know he knows I'm awake.

"'Morning," I grumble. James ignores me, so I slump back down onto my pillow. I can't sleep.

"James," I whisper after a while. He doesn't respond, but I know he can hear me. "James, why won't you listen to me?"

I wait for his reply anxiously, my heart pounding in my ears. I want so badly for him to turn to me and promise that he will listen until I'm finished explaining myself. I want to tell him about how confused I am, about how I loved him…or do I still love him? I want to tell him that I loved him for sure when he asked me, and that I wanted to tell him right then…but when he yelled at me and reverted back to how we were at the beginning of the summer, something changed. I want to tell him that I feel like it could go either way at this point. I want him to change my mind.

"Please, James." I'm almost pleading now; all my self-respect has gone out the window. "Please."

I hear James' blankets shifting as he turns away from me.

"I know you can hear me," I tell him.

"Yeah, I can hear you," James grumbles. "Will you shut _up_? I'm tired, I'm trying to sleep, and I don't want to hear it."

That is the last thing I want to hear.

"What is your problem?" I exclaim, throwing off my blanket and standing up.

"_My_ problem? What's _my _problem?" James stands, too. He towers over me. "_My _problem is _you._"

"You're so god damn self-centered," I spit. "If you took two seconds to listen to me, then you would know—"

"—that you think I'm an arrogant prick?" James interrupts. "That I'm a 'bullying toerag?' That I'm selfish, dirty, horrid, and your least favorite person in the entire world, including Lord Voldemort?"

"No! Just shut up and let me—"

"You know what, Lily? I don't know what I ever saw in you," James cuts over me again. "I can't believe I ever thought I was in love with you. Sirius was right; you aren't worth my time."

It happens so suddenly that I can't process what has happened until it's over. James might as well have just punched me in the stomach, because that's just what it feels like right now. It feels like my chest has been ripped open. It feels like my heart has died.

"You…" But I can't think of anything else to say. I feel like I'm going to be sick, so I wrap my blanket around my shoulders and run out the door.

Well, at any rate, he did what I wanted; he changed my mind.

* * *

I expected to cry once I got outside, but I'm too angry to do anything except mutter under my breath. What the _fuck_ was I thinking? How could I possibly ever believe that I was in love with James Potter? I actually _pursued_ him. What is wrong with me?

He's so fucking inconsistent. That's the problem; one moment, he's kind and wonderful, and the next, he's showing his true colors. It's as if his life's goal is to make me miserable. I can't believe that after all this time, after all we have been through together, he says things like that. If he can't see that I care about him, then why should I even bother—

"OOF!"

"Lily! You ought to watch where you're going," says Fabian, laughing at me sprawled on the ground. He extends a hand to help me up, and I accept it.

"Sorry," I snap.

"Whoa, hey, calm down," Fabian says, holding up his hands as though in surrender. "Whatever it is I did, I didn't mean—"

"You didn't do anything," I tell him, trying to keep the bite in my voice to a minimum.

"Oh. Well, then what seems to be the problem?"

"Nothing."

Fabian laughs. "So it's James, then." He sits down and pats the grass next to him. "Take a seat."

"No, thank you." I try to stalk off, but Fabian grabs the sleeve of my sweater and drags me back.

"Not so fast."

"This is assault, you know," I snap as Fabian jerks me down next to him.

"I'm just trying to help you out," Fabian says reasonably. "You've got no friends."

"Wow, thanks, you ARE a big help."

"You know what I mean. I'm all you have right now. Come on. Lay it on me."

I pause and look at Fabian. He's looking at me with a concerned, yet amused expression on his face, and I sigh, taking a few deep breaths before trusting myself to speak.

"Do you ever hate someone so much that you wish they would throw up all their guts and die inside-out?"

Fabian laughs. "I knew it was about James."

"I never said—"

"Shut up, Lily," Fabian interrupts. "Come on. Cut the bullshit."

I shift uncomfortably and wrap my blanket tighter around myself, even though there is no breeze. "Fine. It's about sodding James, alright?"

"There we go. Now, are you going to finally tell me why you two have been at each other's throats these past three weeks?"

"It's because he's so fucking stubborn," I say harshly. "He won't listen to me. I keep trying to talk to him, but he won't hear it. And if he just took five seconds to hear me out, then he'd know that—"

"—you're madly in love with him?"

I look out over the hill. "I hate him."

Fabian puts an arm around me, and we watch the sun rise even higher in the sky.

"I don't know what's happened between you two," Fabian says, surprising me by breaking the silence. "But I have never seen two people more meant for each other than you and James Potter."

I don't say anything. Instead, I look down at my feet and curl my toes in the grass.

"What if he never talks to me again?" I say quietly, finally voicing my biggest fear. Fabian squeezes my shoulders in comfort.

"You know James…he's a bit of an idiot. But he'll come around. I promise."

I'm still doubtful, but I nod anyways. Fabian gives me one more squeeze before walking back up to the cottage, leaving me alone again. If Fabian thought our little talk was going to make things more clear, he was wrong.

* * *

Dinner that night is a very tense affair. Gideon and Fabian are trying to lighten the mood by making jokes, but not even the sounds of polite laughter can drown out the tense silence.

"Lily, what have you been up to, lately?" asks Mrs. Potter suddenly. "I barely see you around the house."

I shrug, surprised that she is addressing me. "Nothing much." _Just avoiding your son at all costs_, I think to myself. James catches my eye, and I know that he knows what I'm thinking. He smirks, and I drop my head.

"You haven't spoken much. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes," I say, in what I hope is a convincing tone. I flash a quick smile, and then look down at my meal again.

"Are you making progress with your Defense studies?" Mr. Potter asks me. Defense studies. Crap. Ironically, I have completely forgotten about them since our little run-in with Avery.

"I—was," I say carefully. "But since I've been here…"

"That's alright," Mr. Potter says. "Not to worry. Do I daresay you were working hard before the attack?"

"Yes, sir," I reply.

"What do you say, James? How's our girl doing?" Mr. Potter turns to his son. Oh, no. My heart drops out of my stomach; I had forgotten he was supposed to be helping me. I look up at him, and our eyes meet again. _Lie for me,_ I telepathically implore him. _Please. Don't make a scene. _

"I don't know," James says, not taking his eyes off me. I see a hint of a smirk on his face, and I suppress the urge to put my face in my hands. He's going to make a scene. "She doesn't want my help."

"Melina?" Mr. Potter addresses me.

"No," I correct my "brother." "_James_ doesn't want to help _me_."

"Guilty as charged," says James, smiling sarcastically at me and putting another mouthful of potatoes into his mouth.

"Wow, it's getting late," Fabian says, faking a yawn. "I'm off to bed…"

"Yeah…me too," Gideon adds, taking his brother's hint. No one really pays them any attention as they get up and leave.

"You mean to say that you _haven't_ been working with Melina?" says Mr. Potter, slowly putting down his spoon.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" I shout at James, surprising everyone at the table, including myself.

"I'm sure you already have an extensive list," James says acidly.

"Everyone, calm down," Mrs. Potter says, but everyone ignores her.

"Why do you always try to make things harder?" I exclaim. "Why do you have to pick a fight at every available moment?"

"You were _supposed_ to be training her!" Mr. Potter yells at James. "How is she going to protect herself now?"

"I don't _need_ any help from a pompous, arrogant git," I tell Mr. Potter darkly.

"Yes," agrees James sarcastically, "and it's not easy to train a stubborn _tease_ anyways!"

"That is unaccept—" Mr. Potter begins, but I cut him off.

"_Excuse me?_ If you would take five seconds to TALK to me, I might have a chance to explain myself!"

"I don't want to hear it anymore!"

"I hate you!" I scream, tears springing to my eyes. I feel like I'm five years old. I'm so frustrated that all I want to do is scream, stamp my feet, and throw a tantrum.

"Right back at you!"

"What the _sodding hell_ is the problem with you two?" Mrs. Potter suddenly bellows. Even Mr. Potter jumps a little in his chair, gaping at his tiny, well-mannered wife. "_Every single time_ you two are in the same room together, you end up shouting!"

"He's such a—"

"She always—"

"Enough shouting!" Mrs. Potter shouts. "Out! Both of you!" She starts shoving James and I towards the door.

"Mum, are you seriously kicking me out?" James yelps.

"You two aren't allowed to come back inside until you can learn to be _civil_!"

"See you _never_!" James yells childishly, as Mrs. Potter slams the door behind us.

I hear the lock click. James and I stare at each other , fuming.

"_Now _look what you've done!" I say, mustering up my "Prefect glare." James is less than intimidated. On the contrary, he's furious.

"That is _so_ like you!" James bellows. "You're so damn perfect. Nothing is ever your fault, is it?"

"Go to hell."

"I wouldn't want to risk running into you!"

"I never want to speak to you ever again!" I scream, losing all control.

"Fine by me!" James shouts. He picks up a stick and draws a line in the grass. "That's your side; this is mine. Stay on your side of the line."

I resist the urge to hit James with the stick he just used to draw our dividing line and stomp to the side of the house, where I am unable to hold back tears any longer.

* * *

**A/N:** And there you have it! Chapter 13 will be up sooner than this, I promise! I just want to take a second to thank all of the **43 **reviewers who commented on the last chapter! Wondering Hail, xLycheeRAiN, Angel.x, movinggirl, TheOneBehindItAll, Tarantallegra27 (you ALWAYS leave me the most amazing reviews-is it weird to say that I love you?), LanaDeLuca, buddygirl1004, , djsrocks, thePhonyOversized, Shhay-j11, , Oriel Subtle, sugarquills-and-lillies, Scribbles In A Notebook, pigckle8, Fangalitious, okok123, xxcookiesxx123, sugarquills007, aspentree11, DarlingILoveYou, parisFish, MoonLightnBlackFlame, TeenTypist (THANK YOU for the constructive criticism! I appreciate it so much.), i guess i'm going under again, weasleytwins12, i love puffy stickers, AMessofPickles, you get on with that shit, snarky sidekick, Sarah Wesley Potter Black, Alex reviews, starlight564, Meguxa, EdernaW, The Scarlett Letter, Chloe Barby, Nobody, and .-you are all wonderful, amazing people. I'm buying you all unicorns. You guys are so amazing. I read and appreciate every single thing you send me! I try to reply to everyone personally, but I have been doing a TERRIBLE job of it lately.

Anyways, please shoot me a review, and tune in for the next chapter!


	13. Pulling It Together

**Chapter 13: Pulling It Together**

By the time I've finished crying, the sky has darkened. It's a bit cold out here, and I'd really like to go back inside, but that would entail talking to Potter, and I recently swore to myself that I would never speak to him again, so that's out the window.

I suppose I'd better get comfortable.

I wrapped my sweater around myself a little tighter and scanned the yard for the most comfortable piece of grass. Maybe James is right, I find myself thinking. Maybe I am too stubborn…but sleeping on the grass for one night is a small price to pay for never having to speak to Potter again.

I don't understand him. One minute, we're the best of friends, and then the next…we're mortal enemies. Whenever we're together, I feel like I'm sticking a fork in an electrical socket; either nothing's going to happen, or I'm going to be electrocuted. He brings out the worst in me. He makes me embarrass myself. He makes me act like I'm five years old. Never have I ever lost control the way I did tonight, and it's all because of him. Well, I'm tired of dealing with it. I'm not going to chase him or try to get him to understand anymore. In fact, the fact that I used to think I was in love with him makes me a little sick and ashamed of myself.

"Lily?" I look up from my position on my relatively comfortable plot of grass.

"Hello, Fabian," I say vaguely, still a little lost in my own thoughts.

"What are you doing?" Fabian asks.

I shake my head to clear it. "What?"

"What are you doing?" Fabian repeats.

"I'm getting comfortable," I inform him. I thought that was obvious.

"Why?"

"Mrs. Potter says James and I can't come inside until we promise not to argue," I reply simply, and Fabian rolls his eyes. "What?"

"What?"

"You rolled your eyes at me."

"Well, can you blame me?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Fabian sighs and rumples his hair in a manner reminiscent of Potter, and I feel a twinge of annoyance. Did he teach that trick to everybody?

"I can't decide if you're in denial or you're actually this thick," he says, and he starts to walk away from me.

"Fabian!" I get up and go after him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt.

"What do you want?" asks Fabian exasperatedly.

"I thought you were going to talk to me."

"Why should I bother? You don't listen to a word I say."

"Stay. Please." The last word comes out almost desperately.

Fabian looks at me, rolls his eyes again, but sits.

"You plan on sleeping here?" He gestures to the plot of grass I am in the process of nesting in.

"Uh-huh."

"Aren't you going to get cold?"

"I'm wearing a sweater," I remind him. He gives me a look. "Or maybe you could bring me a blanket…?"

He doesn't reply directly to the question. "So what are you going to do about James?"

"Nothing," I say simply. "Haven't you heard? I'm never speaking to him again."

"Oh, I heard," says Fabian, laughing hollowly. "All of Great Britain heard."

"Good," I say stubbornly. "Then maybe he finally got the point."

"I thought _he _was the one ignoring you," Fabian pointed out, a smug grin on his face.

"I—he—_that's not the point_," I snap.

"Then what _is_ the point?" Fabian looks slightly amused. I hate him for that.

"The point is, I hate him," I say childishly. I know how stupid I sound, but I can't really help it. "I'm never speaking to him again."

"Okay, I'm going inside," Fabian says tiredly. I grab his sleeve again.

"Why? Come on."

"Lily, you're not talking to me," Fabian tells me, annoyed. "I'm not going to sit out here and listen to, '1000 Reasons I Hate James Potter.'"

"Okay, okay," I say hastily, pulling him back to the ground. "I'll stop talking about it. Come on, sit back down."

Fabian hesitates. "No more bullshit?"

"Promise."

Fabian grudgingly sits back down next to me. "So." He says. "You like James."

It was a statement, not a question.

"I hate James."

"That's it." Fabian sighs and stands up again.

"Nononononono," I protest. "I'm sorry, no, come back!"

"You are impossible to talk to!"

"I'm perfectly delightful!"

"No, you're a perfect broken record," Fabian corrects me. "'I hate James' is the only thing you ever say."

"It's the truth, and you said no more bullshit," I remind him stubbornly.

"See you later." Fabian brushes me off and begins to walk away again.

"Fine!" I call after him. "Who needs you?"

He doesn't turn around. I cross my arms and huff. Fabian Prewett. Who does he think he is, telling me I like James Potter? _He_ is the one who's full of it…I mean, maybe I used to maybe kind of a little bit like James sort of. But things can change. A lot of things. Feelings can change. One day, you think you're going to spend your life with someone, and the next, those feelings are gone. And then you feel nothing. Zip. Nada. Goose egg. Zero. This is one of those times. I have zero feelings for James Potter.

Which is why he makes me so angry.

Damn.

"Fabian!" I shout. He's almost at the house. I stand up and run after him. "Fabian."

"_What_," he asks exasperatedly.

"Come back."

"Lily, I'm hungry," he says tiredly. I can tell he doesn't want to talk to me, but I don't care.

"Look." I grab hold of his shoulders so he can't get away. "I—I don't _hate _Potter. I mean, I do. Kind of. Right now I kind of do. But only because he…" I can't really bring myself to finish the sentence. I can't find the words. So I let it hang there.

Fabian looks at me with a mixture of skepticism and pity.

"Please," I say quietly. "I just need to talk to someone. You."

He still says nothing.

"I'm so confused. Please. Just help me."

Fabian hesitates, and then shakes his head. "Come on."

I follow him back to the side of the cottage, and we sit.

"You're confused," Fabian repeats. He sounds like a therapist.

"Yeah." I play along. I could use a therapist right now.

"You didn't seem confused the first night we got here," Fabian smirks. "If I hadn't walked in…"

"You can go to hell for that," I tell him grudgingly. "Well, a lot of things have happened since then."

"Like?"

The details of James and my fight spill out of me like a waterfall of confession. I tell him about how unpredictable James is, how he is too sensitive, and how every time something little goes wrong, our entire relationship derails. I tell him about our conversation in the parlor that fateful night when Mrs. Potter interrupted us, and I tell him that regardless of what I was going to say, I would say something completely different now. And I tell him how frustrating it is that he won't talk to me, and if he won't talk to me, what business do I have talking to him? I did my part. I tried. I made an effort, and it failed miserably. I tell Fabian how this is a lost cause, and even if I cared about him in the slightest before, I'm not interested now, and when I finish, I feel a great weight lifting off my chest. Fabian is staring at me, his mouth slightly gaping.

"Is that it?" Fabian says, once he finds his voice.

"Is what it?"

"That. That's the whole controversy? The upset? The reason you 'hate' each other?"

Is this a trick question?

"Yes," I say slowly. Fabian is shaking his head.

"That," says Fabian flatly, "is the stupidest thing I have ever heard."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, but—okay, no, I'm not sorry at all. You two are acting like idiots. This 'problem?'" He accents that last word with sarcastic air quotes. "That's not a problem."

"Uh, did you miss the part where he won't listen to a word I say?"

"Lily," says Fabian seriously. "We didn't know each other very well in school, but we were in the same house. And if you do one thing well, it's being heard."

"But he won't—"

"Then _make_ him listen! Shout it at him! Write it on the wall! Threaten to put him in detention!" Fabian interrupts exasperatedly. "I don't care _what_ you have to do, but for Merlin's sake, pull it together!"

With that, Fabian stands up and dramatically walks back to the cottage, muttering and shaking his head the whole time.

At first, I'm insulted by what Fabian has just said. I am not stupid, and I don't act like an idiot. And I did not appreciate him undermining this problem.

But then I realize that he is right.

I'm not thinking clearly. No, scratch that—I'm not thinking at all. I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't know what I'm feeling. All I know is that I have to do what I'm about to do right now, before I think about it too much and lose my nerve.

I march around to the front of the cottage, and I still see the indent I the grass where James drew our dividing line. I unceremoniously step over it, and make a beeline for the side of the cottage, where I see James absent-mindedly drawing in the dirt with a stick.

He hears me coming and looks up.

"You're on my side," he tells me nastily, but I ignore him. I take the stick he is playing with and snap it in half. "Hey!"

I don't think I'll ever know where I got the guts to do it. I grab the front of James's shirt and jerk him into a standing position.

"What're you—"

But his protests are interrupted by my mouth pressing against his.

* * *

"Remember when you told me that you would never go out with me?"

"Yes."

James is gloating, but I can't seem to keep myself from smiling anyways. We are holed up in the spare bedroom, splitting our time between looking into each other's eyes and apprehensively watching the door.

"Remember when you told me that I was an arrogant, bullying git?"

"I believe the exact wording was, 'arrogant, bullying _toerag_,'" I correct him cheekily.

"What the hell is a toerag, anyways?" James asks me.

"Who cares?"

James laughs and kisses my forehead. "Remember when you told me you would jump off the Astronomy Tower before you would date me?"

"Yes," I reply.

"And remember when you told me that you would rather shave Professor Karkainen's back before you would spend ten minutes in my presence?"

"Yes, James."

"And remember when you said you'd rather date the Giant Squid?"

"Yeah," I say, my smile widening. "But he's not here right now, so I suppose you'll have to do."

"You little…"

James grabs me around the waist and tickles my sides and stomach.

"James!" I gasp, unable to breathe from laughing, but he is merciless, and positions himself on top of me so he has a better angle. "Get—off—me!"

"Oh, Lily," he says, ceasing his torture for a moment and bringing his face dangerously close to mine. My lips part slightly of their own accord, expecting a kiss. "We both know you wouldn't want that."

He stays in this position for a moment, before straightening back up and resuming the tickling.

"AHH!" I scream as the sensation becomes too much, and James stops suddenly, throwing his large, calloused hand over my mouth. I can practically see his ears perk up as his eyes dart to the door.

"SH!" he hisses. "They'll hear you."

"Melina?" Mrs. Potter calls from the kitchen. I try to respond, but James' hand is still muffling my mouth.

"Yes?" James responds in an annoyingly high voice. I throw his hand off.

"I do not sound like that," I hiss.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes!" James calls back, using his horrible imitation of me. I cover my own mouth now to stifle my laughter. "I just poked myself in the eye!"

I stare at him. "_Poked myself in the eye?"_ I mouth incredulously. James shrugs, grinning. "First thing I thought of, okay?"

We hear footsteps coming closer, and my eyes widen in panic. "She's coming!" I whisper, and without thinking, I push James off the bed.

"OOF!" I wince as his body hits the floor. "That was un—"

"Quick, under the bed!" I hiss as the doorknob turns. James doesn't need telling twice.

The door opens just as I manage to pull myself into a sitting position, covering one eye with my hand.

"Are you okay?" Mrs. Potter asks, looking around the room. "I heard noise…"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make such a racket," I tell her apologetically.

"Let me see that eye." She moves towards me and I instinctively scoot backwards.

"No," I say quickly. Too quickly. "I—I mean, it's probably fine. I just overreacted."

Mrs. Potter looks at me for a while. "Okay…but if it keeps hurting, be sure to come talk to me."

"Okay," I reply, nodding.

"Where's James?" asks Mrs. Potter, and the question sends my heart racing.

"I don't know!" I reply, a little too quickly and defensively. She looks at me again. "I—I don't know," I repeat, calmly this time. "I think he's…outside?"

"Oh," says Mrs. Potter. "I haven't seen him all day. If you see him, will you tell him to get washed up for dinner?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"We're eating in ten minutes."

Mrs. Potter walks out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"Can I come out now?" James whispers from under the bed.

"Yes," I whisper back. "That was a close call."

James climbs back onto the bed. "Yeah…I suppose we're going to have to occupy ourselves with more quiet activities," he tells me, grinning slyly.

"Like?"

James kisses me lightly, and gently eases me down onto the bed before resuming his previous position on top of me. I smile as he deepens the kiss and rests his body on top of mine, returning the kiss enthusiastically. One hand travels to James' soft, silky hair while the other one remains on his chest, and with each touch of his lips, I feel like my body is on fire. He pauses long enough to say,

"Will this do?"

I laugh quietly and pull his head back down to kiss me in response.

* * *

True to history, being with James Potter is complicated. But it's a different kind of complicated. James is a very, very good complication to have. Most days, I walk around the cottage in a deliriously happy daze, bumping into things and making people repeat questions because I'm too lost in my daydreams to bother listening the first time. James never ceases to make me act like I'm a little girl, whether he's pissing me off, or making me fall in love with him.

My boredom problem, at any rate, is a complete non-issue. Whenever I'm least expecting it, James swoops in and decides it's time for a secret make-out session in the nooks and crannies of the cottage. He nearly gave me a heart attack when, one night we were helping Mrs. Potter set the table for dinner, and when she turned her back to put away silverware, he kissed me passionately by the pantry.

Whether this is a hindrance or an asset to our relationship, I do not know, but for obvious reasons, James and my love is completely forbidden. It's horribly difficult to hide a relationship from four people living in a cottage the size of the Gryffindor Common Room. However, it is certainly thrilling and sexy to try.

I swear, that James Potter is turning me dirty. I wish I cared a little more, but quite frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.

* * *

Breakfast one morning is interrupted by Mad-Eye Moody. He doesn't bother to knock; instead, he simply opens the door and enters the cottage. He always appears to be in a rush of some sort.

"Mad-Eye, can't you knock?" Mrs. Potter sighs, waving her wand and conjuring up an extra plate for him.

"You left the door unlocked again," Mad-Eye says gruffly. "Dangerous."

"Mad-Eye, there are four hundred protective charms on this house!" Mrs. Potter says. "If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gets through all of those, a _locked door_ is not going to stop him!"

"You can never be too careful," replies Mad-Eye, taking a sausage from the plate Mrs. Potter has set for him.

"What's the news today?" James asks.

"Nott was convicted," says Mad-Eye bitterly. "Life sentence in Azkaban."

"Why that tone, Alastor?" Mrs. Potter questions. "That sounds like brilliant news!"

"It would be ruddy brilliant, if Avery and Dolohov hadn't got off," Mad-Eye tells her gruffly.

"WHAT?" James and I exclaim. Bits of sausage fall out of James' mouth and onto the table, but our attention is focused on Mad-Eye.

"How could those dirty pigs get off?" James demands angrily. "They tried to kill us!"

"They claimed to be acting under the Imperious Curse," Mad-Eye replies, and James snorts.

"Imperious Curse my dear Aunt Sally," he says darkly.

"But that's not fair!" I say.

"Life's not fair, sunshine," Mad-Eye tells me bitterly.

"But-but-they obviously _weren't_ cursed!" I protest. "I know what the Imperious Curse looks like-when you're under it, your eyes are all glazed over, and Dolohov and Avery were completely coherent!"

"No one is 'obviously' anything anymore," says Mad-Eye grimly. "There are so many people who have actually been cursed that the Ministry doesn't know who to believe anymore..."

"They should believe us! We're witnesses!" James says.

"Yeah, we're witnesses! We can testify!"

"No, you can't," Mad-Eye says flatly. "You're underage, and your father doesn't want you anywhere near this war."

"But-"

"No more questions. I'm too busy to argue." Mad-Eye holds up a hand to cut me off. "The point of the matter is Dumbledore sent me here to tell you that it's safe for you to go home."

"Really?" I say excitedly. "I thought we were being taken to a safe house!"

"If it were up to me, you would be," grumbled Mad-Eye. "But what Dumbledore says, goes, and the man said you are going home." He rummages in his pockets for a minute or two before pulling out a broken old clock. "Here. The Portkey leaves in four minutes."

Mad-Eye puts the clock on the table and takes another sausage.

"Why don't you stay for breakfast?" Mrs. Potter asks, but Mad-Eye waves his hand in dismissal.

"Can't," he says simply. "I must be off. But call if you need anything."

Mad-Eye takes some toast off of James' plate and rushes to the door, leaving it ajar as he exits the boundaries of the protective charms.

"Mum, can I have some more toast?" James asks, but Mrs. Potter ignores him.

"Where are Gideon and Fabian?"

"Still asleep, I think," I reply.

"You going to eat that?" James asks, pointing to my toast. I roll my eyes and tip the toast onto his plate.

"James, will you go and wake them?" Mrs. Potter implores just as James is about to bite into his toast. He pauses, sighs, and then grudgingly puts the toast back on his plate before standing up and going to the spare bedroom.

Three minutes later, we are all crowded around the broken clock, waiting for it to take us back home. Fabian and Gideon would take another Portkey from the Potter Manor in the evening.

"Everyone got a good hold?" asks Mrs. Potter, watching her watch. Everyone nods. "Three…two…one…"

I feel my feet leaving the ground, and am overcome with the uncomfortable sensation of being pushed through time and space. Before I know it, we crash to the ground in a heap on the floor of the Potter Manor.

Home, sweet home.

* * *

After lunch, I retreat to my room to change clothes. I've been cycling through three outfits since the Potter Gala, and I could really use a change. After pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, I hear a knock at the door.

"Come in."

"Hey," says Fabian.

"Hi," I reply, sitting down on the bed. "What's up?"

"Not much," Fabian shrugs. "I notice you and James are on good terms again…" The corners of his mouth twitch.

"We, shall we say, settled our differences," I reply, smirking slightly.

Fabian laughs loudly. "So, are you two together now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, are you his girlfriend?" Fabian asks impatiently.

I begin to say, "yes," but stop myself as I remember that he hasn't actually ever called me his girlfriend before. _Am_ I his girlfriend?

"I…don't know," I say, frowning slightly. "Maybe? I guess…?"

"Maybe?" Fabian repeats.

"Well, we haven't exactly discussed it," I tell Fabian defensively. "Something is definitely going on, though."

"Hey, no need to get defensive," Fabian says, holding his hands up in surrender. "I was just curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat," I grumble.

"What?" Fabian laughs. "How do you work that one out?"

"It's a Muggle saying…" I try to explain, but then I think better of it. "Never mind. Anyways, are you excited to go home?"

"Yeah," he says. "Gideon and I haven't seen Molly in ages."

"It's so hard not seeing your family," I reply hollowly. To my horror, I feel tears stinging my eyes and I quickly blink them away.

"You're doing great, you know," Fabian tells me quietly. "You're braver than you think, Lily Evans."

"I'm not." I shake my head. Tears are threatening to fall again, so I pretend that I have an itch in my eye and wipe them away. "I'm just pretending."

"Just because you don't feel brave doesn't mean you're not."

I don't have a response to that.

"I'm not supposed to tell you this," Fabian tries, "but for what it's worth, I actually saw your parents a few days go. They are doing fine."

The relief washes over me and I bury my face in my hands. "Thank God."

"Everything is going to be alright," Fabian says quietly. "Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but I promise that everything will be alright."

"You can't promise that."

"Why don't you want to believe that things will get better?"

I don't reply for a long time, but when I find the words, I'm shocked at how depressing I sound. "Because it won't. Voldemort is strong, stronger than anyone else in the world. Maybe even Dumbledore."

"But Lily, we're fighting—"

"That's the problem!" I say, and I'm surprised that I've raised my voice. "How old are you? Twenty? This Order of the Phoenix? It's made up of children!"

"It's not about age, Lily," Fabian explains, "it's about life experience."

"What life experience could you possibly have? Voldemort knows magic that you've never even thought of before. It's only a matter of time—"

"Lily. You need to calm down."

I take a step back, observing Fabian's concerned expression.

"Take a deep breath," he instructs, and I do. And then I take another. My heart rate begins to return to normal. "Not everything is going to get better right away. You're doing great. Don't lose it on me now."

* * *

At five minutes to seven that evening, the Potters, the Prewett brothers, and I are in the kitchen, waiting for the Portkey to take Gideon and Fabian back home. I have to say, I will be sorry to see them go.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Gideon says, shaking Mr. Potter's hand.

"I wish you well in your recovery," Mr. Potter replies, nodding.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble we caused," Fabian adds sheepishly.

"I can't say that it was no big deal," Mr. Potter says, "because it was. But we put three known Death Eaters behind bars because of it, so I suppose no one can be too fussed about it."

"Thank you," says Fabian, and Mr. Potter nods curtly.

"Sometimes, I forget that you are just kids," he sighs. Fabian catches my eye, and we both look away.

"Bye, Lily," Gideon says, giving me a hug. I hug him back gingerly, not wanting to hurt him.

"It was good to see you," I tell him as we break apart.

"I'm sure we'll meet again soon." He winks and me and then moves on to James.

"We'll miss you, Lily," says Fabian, mimicking his brother and hugging me.

"Miss you too," I say. "Thank you for everything."

"It was no trouble."

After both boys have said their goodbyes to James and I, they grab hold of the old Frisbee on the table.

"Three," says Mr. Potter, looking at his watch. "Two…one."

And just like that, the Prewett brothers are gone.

* * *

The following evening, we sit down for the first family dinner in a long time; it's rare that Mr. Potter is home for longer than a few moments.

"How was work, dad?" asks James through mouthfuls of potatoes.

"Typical," sighed Mr. Potter wearily. "There was a huge media swarm around the capture of those three Death Eaters, so naturally, we're suffering a bit of…retaliation."

"'Retaliation?'" I repeat. "What kind of retaliation?"

"That's not important," Mr. Potter says. "You are safe; that's all that matters."

"No, it's not," I say, annoyed. "Why bring it up if you're not going to explain yourself?"

"Lily," says James, quietly and imploringly. "C'mon, give it a rest."

I stare at James. It's highly uncharacteristic of him to _not_ want details about the war and the Order. James has been much less offensive towards his father since their fight in the cottage where Mr. Potter accused his son of being immature…he must be trying to prove him wrong. So I drop the matter.

"Sorry," I apologize.

"Dad," says James, changing the subject. "Do you think I could invite Sirius and Remus over? I haven't seen them in ages."

"James, I don't think that's wise," Mr. Potter says slowly. "We may be out of the woods for now, but that doesn't mean we can be reckless…"

"What could be reckless about inviting my two best friends over?"

"We just can't be exposing Melina to so many people," Mr. Potter explains.

"Remus already knows who she is," James presses. "And he's kept the secret all this time."

"I don't know, James…"

"And I would trust Sirius with my life." James looks so intensely at his father that I am impressed by James' loyalty to his friends. How did I overlook all his good qualities for so many years?

"But would you trust Sirius with Melina's?" Mr. Potter asks quietly.

"Yes," James replies instantly. When his father hesistates, James presses on: "Sirius doesn't even know that Melina is Lily. He couldn't tell his rotten parents anything, even if he wanted to."

Mr. Potter takes off his glasses and cleans them on his sweater. Wordlessly, he puts them back on and stares at James.

"Okay," he says, and James makes a triumphant noise and punches his fist in the air. "But. I have to be present for the visit."

"Dad!" James protests, but Mr. Potter holds up a hand to silence his son.

"I'm not going to observe you or anything," Mr. Potter explains, "but I want to be in the house. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes," James says.

"I am taking the day off next Monday," says Mr. Potter. "You can invite Sirius and Remus over then."

"Great," says James, happily tucking into the pudding that Mrs. Potter just set out for dessert. "Thanks, dad."

* * *

The next few days pass without consequence. I resume my studies of defensive spells, this time with James' "help."

"This looks promising," I say, running my finger down the index of _Dark Defenses_. "James, come look at this."

I hear James' muffled footsteps hitting the carpet as he comes behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder with both hands on the table.

"Look," I say. "Do you know any of these spells?"

He responds by gently kissing my neck.

"James," I say reproachfully, turning my head away even though his kisses send tingles down my spine. He turns my head back towards him and kisses me again. "James," I repeat, but he is peppering my mouth with short, light kisses that make me feel like I'm floating.

_Come on, Lil. Keep your head_.

"James," I say, between kisses. "We—are—supposed—to—be—studying."

"How about a study break?" He whispers in my ear. I shiver involuntarily.

"Stop," I tell him, but I only about half-mean it.

"You don't mean that," James growls, echoing my thoughts, and he kisses me full on the mouth.

He's right. I don't mean it at all.

* * *

"Okay, James, if you're going to study with me, you can't distract me," I say firmly thirty minutes later, smoothing my hair.

"I don't distract you," James replies, smiling infuriatingly. "You're just distracted by me."

"What a load of crap," I reply, pulling a stack of books towards me. I pass one to James. "Here. Start looking for some good spells."

James picks up the book and tries to sit down next to me. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no." I point to the desk across the room. "You sit all the way over there."

James rolls his eyes. "Lily!"

"You don't have to help," I say, cracking open the next book in the pile. James pauses, huffs, and then retreats to the desk in the corner.

The minutes tick by, as I become absorbed in the book. I pull a few quills out of the desk, jotting down several promising spells. Just as I'm about to flip to the next chapter, my thoughts are interrupted by James.

"This is so boring," he says, accenting his statement by slamming the book shut.

"You've been reading for eight minutes," I reply without looking up.

"How did you _do_ this all day?" James marvels.

"Well, I didn't have an obnoxious boyfriend to distract me," I say dryly.

"So I'm your boyfriend now?"

My head snaps up and I realize what I just said. "Oh. I didn't mean—sorry—I just thought—"

"Don't be sorry," James says, getting up from the table and coming back to me. He gives me that weak-kneed smile and says, "I'll be your boyfriend…on one condition."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You be my girlfriend."

I actually laugh at his corny line. "You are ridiculous," I say, but I let him kiss me anyways.

* * *

**A/N**: And there you have it! The moment(s) you've all been waiting for. I was grinning like a complete loon when I wrote this chapter...it's a good thing that I write ridiculously late at night/early in the morning so my poor family doesn't have to witness this madness. But enough about me! Thank you to every single one of my reviewers: Ulin, pigckle8, deceptive shadows, H o r i z o n s, buddygirl1004, Loslote, sittinglillies, MargaretRidge, Archer117, , djsrocks, i guess i'm going under again, UnicornTamer, sugarquills-and-lillies, ksalxo, Lluis, ksmith092 (is your username a Mean Girls reference, by the way?), AMessofPickles, jjxlea123, xLycheeRAiN, wolftracks17, TheOneBehindItAll, isigirl, The Scarlett Letter, LoveMusic98, howling-tonks, .x, Wondering Hail, IckleblueeyedWitch, Fae Thatcher (I can't believe how many chapters you reviewed! You're so awesome!), okok123, Chloe Barby, Fangalitious and moonfrost127. You guys are all wonderful, fabulous, beautiful, and lovely! Oh, and let's not forget Tarantellegra27, who is, without a doubt, the sweetest girl on Fanfiction.

Once again, I am so grateful that so many people are reading and enjoying my story-I never thought I'd get 293 reviews! So thank you for making this happen. Shoot me a review, tell me what you thought of the chapter, and I'll see you guys next week for another update!

Love,

Elena


	14. A Close Call

**Chapter 14: A Close Call**

I'm awakened in the middle of the night by several loud crashes. I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart hammering so hard that I can't distinguish between my heartbeat and the loud bangs on the door. This is it. They found me. We should never have come back here with Nott and Dolohov still at large—they must have ratted us out, and now I'm going to be murdered, and the entire Potter family is going down with me.

I can hear voices outside, so I dash over to the window and peek out of my curtains. There are two figures, dark and hooded, and another lump that I can't see properly. Neither of the figures look big enough to be hulking Dolohov…Nott must have brought another one of his Death Eater cronies with him. One of the hooded figures looks up, and I flatten myself against the wall, out of sight of the Death Eaters. I'm sure I'm too late—they have probably seen me. Does it even matter? They obviously know that I'm here—

There is noise downstairs; Mrs. Potter must be out of bed. Oh Merlin, is she going to answer the door? I have to get out of here, but how do I get out? Why did we never practice evacuation drills? The only way out is through the front or back door, but either way I have to go downstairs…unless…

I go back to the window. I'm two stories up; the fall would break my leg. But if I stay here, I'll die. But how can I run with a broken leg…?

My door flies open and I scream, throwing myself against the wall and curling into the smallest ball possible.

"Lily!"

I know that voice. I peek out from between my fingers; it's only James. My heart rate decreases slightly as he rushes over to me.

"James." I exhale as James takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. I throw my arms around him. "James, they're here. They're coming to get me. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry—"

I don't know when I started crying, but I can feel James's t-shirt becoming wet where my face is pressed against it.

"Lil," says quietly, stroking my hair soothingly. "Lily. Lily. It's alright. It's going to be alright."

"No, it's not!" I say against his stomach. "They're here, they're coming to get us—"

"Lily, pull yourself together," James tells me firmly. "Come on. I'm going to get you out of here."

I let go of him and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, but sobs are still wracking my whole body. James takes my hand and leads me into the hallway, his socked feet barely making a sound against the carpet.

We stoop low against the banister. I can hear the scrape of the lock. Mrs. Potter unlocked the door. She's letting them in.

_"She's letting them in!" _I hiss to James, and he squeezes my hand in response.

There are voices downstairs and I strain my ears to hear their words.

"—what's happened?" That's Mrs. Potter.

"No time to explain right now," says an unfamiliar voice urgently. "C'mon, we have to get her inside. She's lost so much blood already."

James looks back at me, confused. Those don't sound like the words of a Death Eater.

"Take her to the kitchen," Mrs. Potter instructs, and we hear three sets of footsteps against the hardwood floor.

"What's happening?" I ask James in a whisper.

"I don't know...but those don't sound like Death Eaters."

I exhale. "Then who is breaking down the door at—" I check James' watch. "—three in the morning?"

"Let's go find out."

Still holding my hand, James leads me down the stairs and through the foyer. When we reach the kitchen, however, I drop James' hand and cover my mouth with both my hands, because the sight is almost too gruesome to bear.

A woman is sprawled on the kitchen table like a discarded ragdoll, and judging by the state of her robes, her chest must have been completely sliced open. The dark crimson pools in the wrinkles of her robes, and is dripping on the hardwood floors, yet she makes no noise. She must be dead.

James and I approach the table, which is surrounded by three other people; Mrs. Potter and two men whom I have never met.

"What's happened?" James asks his mother, who jumps.

"James! Lily! What are you doing out of bed?" she demands. "Get out! Back to bed, both of you!"

"Mother, there is a bloody mess on the kitchen table at three in the morning!" says James incredulously. "What the sodding hell—"

"Watch your language," Mrs. Potter snaps, "and for the love of _Merlin_, get out of the way!"

"Is she dead?" I ask, but no one replies.

I drag James over to the stove, and we watch in morbid fascination as Mrs. Potter removes the dead or dying woman's robes and shirt.

"James! Lily! Get me a towel!" she barks urgently, and James and I waste no time in rummaging through the kitchen drawers and extracting a towel. James tosses it at his mother, who catches it and wipes the woman's chest clean.

Without the extraneous blood, her injury becomes clear. She looks as though someone tried to slice her in half; a giant gash runs from her chin to the waistline of her jeans.

Mrs. Potter begins to mutter spells, running her wand down the massive cut. Everyone in the room is tense and silent. I grip James' arm so tightly that I know it must be painful, but James says nothing and I can't bring myself to stop.

The bleeding begins to slow after a good five minutes of work, and Mrs. Potter uses the towel to get rid of the remaining blood. Mrs. Potter moves her wand in a sewing motion, and the woman's skin begins to knit itself back together. Once the gash appears to be nothing more than a giant, roping scar, Mrs. Potter slumps back into a kitchen chair, allowing her wand to fall to the ground.

"Is...is she going to be okay?" asks the younger of the two men.

"Why didn't you take her to St. Mungo's right away, Benjy?" Mrs. Potter demands, her voice now shaking.

"We couldn't Apparate with her in that state," the man named Benjy explains helplessly. "This was the closest safe house."

"Were you followed?" Mrs. Potter asks sharply.

"I don't think so," the other man replies, and I see Mrs. Potter relax visibly. He, too, slumps into one of the chairs. "They Dissapparated after attacking."

"So they did show up after all," says Mrs. Potter grimly.

"Unfortunately," Benjy agrees. "But we don't think they were expecting us; they seemed alarmed. Just started firing curses at random, and most of them hit Dorcas."

"You two!" Mrs. Potter addresses James and I. "Make yourself useful. Get our guests some tea."

James and I do as we are told, though I keep my attention focused on the others.

"You never answered the question," the older man says to Mrs. Potter. "Is she going to be okay?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Ed," Mrs. Potter says weakly. "That was the best I could do; at least we've stopped the bleeding. Hopefully, she'll be conscious in the morning. Once she's awake, you'll have to go straight to St. Mungo's."

Ed and Benjy accept the tea that James and I have made, but neither take a sip.

"What happened?" James asks.

"Order business," says Ed simply.

"What Order business?"

"'Fraid I can't tell you that, James," Ed replies. "It's strictly confidential information."

James knows better than to press the subject.

"What are you two doing out of bed?" Mrs. Potter asks for the second time.

"We heard noise," I tell her meekly. "I thought…we thought that the Death Eaters had…you know…" I can't bring myself to finish.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Potter sighs, trembling slightly at the thought. "Luckily, tonight was not the night."

If she thought that those were comforting words, she was extremely mistaken.

"Is this the Evans girl?" Ed wants to know, and Mrs. Potter nods. Ed extends a hand for me to shake. "Nice to meet you. Edgar Bones."

"Lily Evans," I reply, shaking his hand.

"And this is Benjy Fenwick."

"I think we've met before," I say as I shake Benjy's hand. "You were a Prefect when we were first years."

"That's right!" Benjy grinned. "I particularly remember taking loads of points off of _this_ one." He gestures towards James, who doesn't look the least bit sheepish.

"Guilty as charged."

"This is Dorcas Meadowes," Benjy says, gesturing towards the woman's body. "She's quite delightful when she's conscious…"

We all flinch at Benjy's little joke. Too soon, man. Too soon.

"I think," says Mrs. Potter, "that we all need some rest."

Edgar Bones and Benjy Fenwick nod. "We'll be getting out of your way, then," says Edgar. "We apologize again for the intrusion."

"Nonsense; you're not leaving now," Mrs. Potter says, bustling around the kitchen. "It's much too late. You'll have to stay the night so you can take Dorcas to the hospital tomorrow morning."

Both men nod again.

"Lily, will you show them to the spare rooms?" Mrs. Potter asks me. I nod, and beckon for Edgar and Benjy to follow me up the stairs. "James, I need you to help me move Dorcas," I hear Mrs. Potter say from the kitchen.

"Here," I say, standing against the stretch of wall between the two spare rooms. "The bathroom is that door, down there, on the left."

"Thanks," say Benjy and Ed.

I nod, and go back into my own room. The clock tells me it's five in the morning, and I fall into bed more emotionally exhausted than I have ever felt in my life.

* * *

After spending a sleepless night tossing and turning in my bed, I go downstairs for some breakfast. The trauma of the night before is still fresh in my mind, and I can't help but shake a bit as I reach for a glass.

I take a seat at the kitchen table, which has been cleaned since the night before. It looks just the same as it always had. No one would ever guess that a dying woman had laid on that table just a few hours previously.

James ambles in, his hair and glasses askew, a few minutes later. He gives me a quick kiss and takes some sausage out of the pan on the counter.

"You have to be more careful about doing that," I chide James.

"Sorry, do you _want_ me to stop kissing you?" James asks, smiling widely. I giggle—_giggle! _What am I turning into?—and he kisses me again. "Sleep well?"

"Not at all," I reply, taking a sausage off of James' plate.

"I didn't, either."

"That woman…Dorcas…do you think she'll be alright?" I ask James anxiously.

"They did the right thing by bringing her to mum," James says, deliberately not quite answering the question. "She used to be a Healer. If anyone could make Dorcas better, it's my mum."

I nod, but do not reply. I don't think I'll feel right about this until Dorcas wakes up and tells me herself that she is fine. James takes my hand in his and I can't help but feel a little better about the situation.

"I'm so scared, James," I say quietly.

"So am I," he tells me, his voice barely audible. He kisses me and then presses his forehead to mine. "Last night, when I thought they were coming to take you away…"

"Dolohov and Nott know where I am," I say, my voice shaking. "All they have to do is walk up to the doorstep, and we're history."

"Not quite," James tells me. "This house is still Unplottable, and there are a thousand other protective enchantments around it. The only reason they could get in at all for the Gala is because my dad took down some of the enchantments. As long as you're here, you're safe."

I take a deep breath and sit up in my chair, dropping James' hand. "Then I suppose there's no use crying over things that have already happened."

Just then, Edgar and Benjy join us in the kitchen.

"'Morning," says a bleary-eyed Edgar, and a House-Elf is quick to pass a mug of coffee to him. In the light, I see the two men for the first time. Edgar Bones is considerably older than James and I—if I had to guess, I would say he was ten years my senior. He has a weathered, tired-looking face with sunken eyes that have seen things men twice his age couldn't fathom, and it's clear by his stubble that he hasn't shaved in days. Benjy Fenwick is younger, probably slightly older than Fabian Prewett, with curly brown hair. His forehead is creased with premature worry lines.

"Is Dorcas awake yet?" I ask them both.

"Dunno," Benjy replies. "Where is she?"

"We set up a cot in the drawing room," James explains. "Mum didn't want to move her upstairs in that state."

"We should go check on her," I say, getting up from my place at the table.

"Mum's been with her all night," says James, following behind me. I lead the three boys into the drawing room, where Dorcas is stretched out on a cot, and I'm relieved to see that her chest is rising and falling underneath the blanket. Mrs. Potter has fallen asleep on the sofa.

"Mum," James says quietly, shaking his mother slightly. "Mum, wake up."

"James?" Mrs. Potter sits up in bed and rubs her eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's around nine."

"Oh dear. I must have drifted off…" Mrs. Potter gets up and goes over to Dorcas' cot. "What are you all doing in here?"

"We wanted to make sure that Dorcas was alright," says Ed.

"Dorcas," says Mrs. Potter quietly. "Dorcas…are you awake?"

Dorcas groans in her sleep, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thank Merlin," says Benjy. "Dorcas? Can you hear me?"

Her eyelids flutter a bit, and she tries to roll over in the cot, but winces and stays on her back. She opens her eyes barely, and looks at each of us in turn.

"Where…?" is all she can manage.

"We brought you to the Potter's," Ed explains. "Mrs. Potter here fixed you up."

"Thank you," says Dorcas weakly.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" asks Mrs. Potter.

"No," Dorcas replies, but Mrs. Potter conjures up a glass with pink liquid in it anyways.

"You need to drink this," she tells Dorcas, helping the girl sit up in her cot. Dorcas is shaking too much to hold the goblet, so Mrs. Potter helps her take small sips. "You need to get your strength up so we can get you to St. Mungo's."

"C'mon, let's give her some privacy," I mutter to James, leading the boys out of the drawing room and back to the kitchen.

"Does Master Potter and his friends want breakfast?" squeaks a House-Elf.

"Yes, thank you," James replies, and the House-Elf shuffles back to the kitchen. James, Benjy, Ed, and I take our seats around the kitchen table.

"So…what happened?" James asks, echoing his question from early in the morning.

"She was attacked by some Death Eaters," Ed replies.

"Yes, we can see that," James says impatiently. "What were you doing _before_ she was attacked?"

"James…" Ed says tiredly.

"C'mon, Ed," James urges. "Fabian already told us about the Order; you might as well tell us."

"All Order business is confidential," Ed tells James flatly. "We can't risk a leak."

"Who could we possibly leak this information to?" James demands. "We aren't allowed to leave the house!"

"What if you're captured and tortured?" says Ed. "What if someone forces the information out of you?"

"I don't think that's very likely," James scoffs.

"On the contrary, it _is_ likely," Ed tells James darkly.

That is a bit of a conversation killer, and we sit around the table in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Or, at least, I'm lost in my own thoughts. The others are probably thinking about what they want for dinner.

* * *

I want to join the Order of the Phoenix, I think as I turn on the shower. Well, I thought I did, anyways. But this morning, seeing Dorcas Meadowes with her body nearly sliced in half weakened my resolve. I'm not exactly sure what my idea of the Order was before, but I know that it was naïve. I mean, I knew that the Order was fighting Voldemort, but until just now, I never really realized what that meant.

I can't for the life of me understand how people who are just two or three years older than me find the courage to come face to face with Voldemort. When James and I first learned about the Order, I remember how we begged his father to let us join underage, telling him that there was no difference between being sixteen and being seventeen, but now, I'm not so sure. Are our N.E.W.T years at Hogwarts just a crash course in fear? Maybe that's what higher level Defense Against the Dark Arts is for.

I mention this to James later on in the day, but he does not agree.

"Lily," he sighs, looking a little exasperated. "You can't learn everything out of a book."

We are supposed to be looking up more defensive spells, but as usual, we are unproductive. This time, however, we are more distracted by thoughts of Dorcas than we are by each other.

I want to fight. I want to change things. But I don't want to end up on the Potter's kitchen table with my chest sliced open. I wonder if he is thinking the same thing.

* * *

Dorcas is too weak to join us at the kitchen table for dinner, but we are joined by Ed and Benjy.

"Thanks, Frances," says Benjy, gratefully lumping mashed potatoes onto his plate. "It's been days since we've had a decent meal."

That's another thing about the Order; it's no day job. Joining the Order means saying goodbye to eight hours of sleep and three square meals a day.

"It's our pleasure, Benjy," Mrs. Potter smiles. "How are your parents?"

"They're well," Benjy replies. "I saw them just before I left for the—"

"_Ahem_." Mrs. Potter clears her throat loudly, her eyes darting to James and I.

"—the…the thing," Benjy finishes lamely. There is a slight pause in the conversation, but Mrs. Potter quickly chatters over it.

"Well, that's lovely," Mrs. Potter says warmly. "Give them my regards next time, will you?"

Benjy nods; his mouth is too full of food to speak.

"And you, Edgar?" Mrs. Potter turns to the other boy. Well, I suppose Edgar's not exactly a boy; he looks about 26, which makes him more of a man, doesn't it? "How is your family?"

Edgar stops, his fork an inch away from his mouth. His face darkens, and his body has become more…tense. I sense a change in the tone of the conversation.

Or lack thereof; Edgar doesn't reply to Mrs. Potter. Benjy does.

"You…you haven't heard?" he asks Mrs. Potter quietly. "It was all over the papers…"

"We cancelled our subscription weeks ago," she replies. "What…"

"They're dead," Edgar says flatly. "They got my parents three weeks ago."

"Oh, Edgar," Mrs. Potter gasps, covering her hand with her mouth. "How tactless of me. I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

"Don't be," Edgar tells her, looking at everyone for the first time since this topic was brought up. "It was no loss. They died fighting; I can only hope that I will be brave enough to do the same."

I can't do this. I can't handle listening to this anymore.

"May I be excused?" I ask, but I'm already pushing away my dish and standing up, ignoring the odd looks I'm sure I'm getting by all present.

"Y-yes," Mrs. Potter says, a little confused, but by the time she has replied, I'm taking the stairs two at a time.

Once in my room, I put my head in my hands, breathing hard. Why do things like this affect me so much? I've heard of people dying before—I sat through five years of History of Magic, listening (well, sort of) to Binns drone on and on about bloody giant wars. I read about deaths and disappearances in the _Daily Prophet_ every morning at breakfast while at Hogwarts. Even just this summer, I've been hearing about murders through Mr. and Mrs. Potter. So why am I such a coward now?

"Lily?" I can hear James' muffled voice, punctuated by four sharp knocks on my door. When I don't reply, he cracks the door open a bit. "Lily?"

I'm too busy trying to dry my eyes to look up.

"Have you gone completely mental?" My oh-so-tactful boyfriend demands, sitting down on the bed next to me and putting an arm around my shoulders.

"You're thoughtfulness never ceases to amaze me." I'm somehow able to sound scathing even though I'm swallowing sobs. I impress myself sometimes.

"What's happened? Why are you crying?" James asks, and though he squeezes my shoulders and kisses my cheek, he sounds completely bewildered.

"I can't do this, James," I say, and the words just kind of tumble out of my mouth, skipping the filter completely. "I don't know what I'm doing. I can't be in the Order. I just can't."

"You _have _gone mental, haven't you," James mutters. "Of course you can be in the Order!"

"No, I can't," I tell him, raising my voice slightly and speaking a little more forcefully. "James, I can't."

"Well, not right now, no," James concedes, "but that's because you're sixteen. Once you're out of school, you can-"

"This isn't about my _age, _James," I tell him, annoyed. I wipe away the last remaining tears and hiccup a bit.

"So what it is about then?"

"I'm scared, James," I say. "I'm so scared. I don't want to end up like Dorcas."

"Is that all?" James says. "Dorcas is fine! Mum told me this afternoon that she'll probably be fine in three days or so-"

"James! Didn't you see her last night? She looked like she was cut in half!"

"Yeah, but she's fine now."

"But she could have died!"

"But she didn't."

"That's not the _point_, James!" I say exasperatedly. "In a few years' time, that could be me!"

"What happened to Dorcas is not going to happen to you," James tells me, trying to sound reassuring, but I push him away.

"Oh yeah? And how do you know that?"

"Because-because it just _won't_, okay?"

"No, James, not okay. It could happen to me. Worse could happen-worse _has_ happened. Look at Benjy-his family is dead!"

"That won't happen to-"

"Yeah, only because my parents are in hiding! How can you be so easygoing about all this?"

"Because I want to fight!" James and I are both on our feet now.

"So you mean to tell me that you're not scared. At all."

"Not at all."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, I'm not. Besides, you're scared enough for both of us."

"If you're not scared at all, then you're just really, really stupid," I snap at James. He recoils slightly, unprepared for my insult. "Go away. I don't want to talk to you right now."

James looks like he's going to retaliate for a minute, but he doesn't. When he speaks, however, he sonds like he is holding his tongue. "Fine. I'll tell mum you're sleeping."

He closes the door behind him, and I'm alone again, but I don't really feel like crying anymore. I feel like throwing something at James-it's a feeling I know well.

* * *

**A/N: **Hello again, everybody! Thanks for coming back for chapter 14! Sorry for the delay-I don't know if you could tell or not, but this chapter gave me a lot of trouble. It's a bit shorter than the other ones, so sorry about that, but hopefully chapter 15 will make up for it! Thanks to buddygirl1004, wolftracks17, pigckle8, , xSoulFighterx, UnicornTamer, CloSalvatore, AMessofPickles, Loslote, Wondering Hail, Shhayy-j11, Fae Thatcher, xLycheeRAiN, , LunaPadma, ksmith092, Angel.x, Lady Wolfy, Moonfrost127, Dylynn, MargaretRidge, sugarquills-and-lillies, mynameinlights15, okok123, Hunter the son of Sirius, Alex, Chessa-Sirius-Black, Tarantellegra27, EightCloseBracket, LunaInTheSky, movinggirl, Fangalitious, Vapid Philosophy, MagicFairy, thePhonyOversized, Light Under My Skin, Scribbles In A Notebook, isigirl, ColorLikeWhoa, and StormySeaEyes for the AWESOME reviews! I can't believe I have over three hundred! You guys are amazing.

Not goint to lie-the next chapter is probably going to take a while. I just started university, so I'm pretty busy these days, but I'm sure I'll find time to write. Please tell me what you think of this chapter, and I'll see you guys next time!


	15. Visitors

**A/N: **Okay, so for anybody who still reads this...it's time for excuses. Blah blah university, blah blah work, blah blah life. Good? Good. For real though, I'm sorry it took so long and I haven't forgotten about this story. It will be completed. Eventually. Anyways, without any further adieu, chapter 15!

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Visitors**

For the second time in two days, I wake up late. I can tell it's a bright day by the way the sun shines even through the curtains, and for a moment, I feel good about the world. I make my way downstairs quietly—I can feel a stillness in the house that tells me that I'm the only one awake—and fix myself a cup of tea.

"Does Miss Melina want help?" I nearly drop my tea upon hearing the unmistakable squeak of a House-Elf. It's been a while since I've seen one; I had almost forgotten they lived here.

"No, thank you," I reply, looking down at the elf by my elbow.

"Has Fanny startled Miss Melina?" the House-Elf apparently named Fanny asks, now looking alarmed.

"No, not—well, yes," I concede, "but it's alright."

"Fanny is very sorry," says Fanny, hanging her large head.

"It's alright," I repeat. "Really, it's nothing." I was suddenly glad that House-Elves generally did not show themselves; it was tiresome being fawned over like this.

"Can Fanny fix Miss Melina any breakfast?" Fanny offers, but I shake my head.

"No thanks, Fanny, I think I'm just going to go read a bit."

Leaving the House-Elf in the kitchen, I head to the library, my old haunt. It strikes me that I haven't been there in a while just to read for myself—in fact, I haven't read a thing for pleasure since before the Potter's gala. I find myself recalling the days at the beginning of the summer, where I would sit in the library all day and do nothing but read and copy down spells whilst hating James. And calling him, "Potter." I sighed; those days seem so far off now, as if from another lifetime.  
Shaking my head to clear it of those introspective thoughts, I turn to the bookshelf, and out of the corner of my eye I see Dorcas shifting on the cot in the corner. Blearily, she rubs her eyes and sits up in her cot.

"Mrs. Potter?" she mumbles, not quite coherently.

Dorcas is not easy to look at. That's not to say she's ugly-I'm sure that when she hasn't

lost an inordinate amount of blood and after she has washed her curly mass of brown hair she is quite the looker-but the events of _that night_ are replaying in my brain like a film on repeat.

"It's Lily," I correct her, because the pretense of calling myself "Melina" seems unnecessary.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you...I'll just go."

"No," she protests weakly, "stay. Please."

I don't want to stay, but I also don't want to tell Dorcas that my courteousness is less due to my consideration for her fragile state and more due to the image of her splayed on the kitchen table, covered in blood, seared into my brain.

"Oh. I...well...if you're sure..." I say awkwardly, and when Dorcas makes no attempt to kick me out, I sit myself down in one of the cushy chairs by the window and open the heavy book over my knees. I pretend to read while doing what I do best-feel uncomfortable. Seriously, I should go pro. If feeling awkward was a payable occupation, I would be richer than the Queen.

I can hear Dorcas shifting in her cot, but I can't decide if I should look at her or pretend to be too engrossed in _Charming the Charmed_ to notice. How long do I have to stay here before I can get up and leave and _not_ look like I'm trying to avoid her?

"What're you reading?"

Dorcas' voice is much closer than it was before, and when I look up, I see that she is standing behind me, wrapped in a blanket.

"Should you be standing up?" I ask her, and I all but push her into the second comfy chair by the window. She looks too weak to walk and I do not want to be the only one with her if she collapses.

"Stop fussing," Dorcas chortles quietly. "I'm perfectly fine."

"Ha!" I laugh before I can stop myself. "I have a sneaking feeling that you and I have very different definitions of, 'fine.'"

Dorcas laughs, wincing at the effort.

"Sorry," I apologize, but Dorcas waves it off.

"Didn't I tell you to stop fussing?"

"Right. Sorry."

She shoots me a look, but it's alright because I think she knows I'm kidding. We're mates now. We could probably braid each other's hair and giggle together and have a slumber party.

"So, uh, not to fuss, but are you okay?" I ask, figuring it's a hell of a lot easier to get rid of the elephant in the room than to spend an hour dancing around it. Dorcas shifts in her chair, as though trying to get comfortable, which I imagine is difficult with a giant scar down your torso. She shrugs, which looks rather painful.

"Eh," she says honestly.

"Eh?"

"Eh." Dorcas elaborates: "It doesn't hurt as bad as it did before, and James' mum did a

rather excellent job patching me up. But, I mean, I pretty much got cursed in half. So I'm 'eh.'"

I nod. "That's fair."

"Well, it isn't, really."

"Well, no, but what I meant was—"

"I know what you meant. Stop fussing."

Dorcas and I may be mates now, but talking to her was proving rather difficult. She changes the subject.

"How do you like it here?" she asks.

"It's—" but I stop, because I don't really know what to say. Nice? Well, yes, it's a mansion. Anyone can see that it's nice. Just like home? But that's a lie. Hospitable? That makes it sound like I'm staying in a hotel. "It's…eh."

"Eh?"

"Eh." Dorcas is smirking a little now at our little joke. "I mean, it's obviously really great and the Potters are wonderful and nice—at least, most of them are—" I get another chuckle out of her at that—"But, it's not, you know, home."

Dorcas sighs and sits back in her chair, wrapping the blanket around her tighter. "Home." She repeats the word as though it has all the significance in the world. "I haven't been home in…" She trails off, counting in her head. "I suppose it's four months now."

"Why not?" I ask her.

"It's too dangerous," Dorcas tells me gravely. "It's like that for everyone in the Order—we never know if we're being tracked or not, so it's not as though we can lead the Death Eaters to our family's doors, can we?"

"Are you being tracked right now?"

"I just said I didn't know, didn't I?" says Dorcas impatiently. When she sees how worried I must look, her expression softens. "This house is protected better than Hogwarts," she reassures me. "Well, maybe not better than Hogwarts. But it's probably the next best thing. Besides Gringotts or something. But the point is, it's impossible to track anyone if they're in this house. And besides, if we had been tracked, we'd have been attacked by now. So don't worry about that."

"Comforting," I say dryly. "Really comforting, considering James and I thought you lot were Death Eaters coming to kill us all."

Dorcas laughed loudly at that. "You thought we were _Death Eaters?_"

"Well, who else comes to call at three in the morning, dressed in hoods?"

"Did you think Mrs. Potter would just…_let them in_?"

"We weren't really thinking logically!" I protest. "It was bloody scary, okay?"

I don't appreciate my new mate poking fun at the scariest moment of my life, but thankfully, she sobers up pretty quickly.

"I know," she says seriously. "It's awful. I know."

The tone of her voice indicates a change in the conversation, and it makes me uneasy. I almost prefer having the mickey taken out of me over the serious discussion that seems to be coming my way.

"What was it like, being asked to join?" I ask her quietly, and there is no need to elaborate. Dorcas takes a deep breath and draws her blanket more tightly around her.

"It was…" She stares whistfully out the window, and I'm sure she is recalling the memory of her, Caradoc, Amelia, Surgis, and Fabian in Dumbledore's office a few years previously. "It was flattering," she says finally. "We were so young, and eager…so appalled at the injustice of the world, and Dumbledore saw it. He _trusted_ us." She takes another deep breath and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she is looking at me, not out the window. "I remember what it was like, to be sixteen and in the middle of this war. You feel so…so useless. And no matter how much you want to help, or how many good ideas you have, or what your strengths are, no one wants to listen to you because you're just too young. But Dumbledore, he took us seriously. And we all wanted to live up to his expectations."

"And have you?"

"I think so, yes," Dorcas replies. "We've given our lives to the Order; I don't know how he could expect more of us."

"But isn't it hard, not seeing your family and…you know…getting attacked?"

"Well, yes," Dorcas concedes. "I mean, it's not as if this—" –she gestures to her stomach—"—is my idea of a good time. But it's worth it."

"That's what Fabian said," I comment.

"Fabian? Prewett?" she says suddenly. "When did you see the Prewetts?"

"You haven't heard?" I ask, surprised. I had assumed that the Order had ways of communicating with one another, and knew what was going on with each member. Dorcas shook her head.

"We—me, Edgar, and Benjamin—have been underground for the last month," she explains. "No communication in or out. We've heard bits; for instance, that the Potter Gala was infiltrated, but nothing specific."

I nod. "Gideon and Fabian were with James and I when we were infiltrated. They had to come into hiding with us."

"They're alright, then?"

"Yes," I say. "Well, Gideon got cursed pretty bad, but he's okay."

"Cursed? By who?" Dorcas looked suddenly alarmed.

"I don't know," I reply darkly. "The Gala was infiltrated by three Death Eaters, and they attacked him while under Disillusionment charms. It was either Avery, Dolohov, or Nott."

"Bloody cowards," Dorcas swears under her breath, looking furious.

"I know," I agree, "but they are still terrifying."

Dorcas nods and gazes out the window for some time.

"I haven't spoken to those two in so long…" Dorcas shook her head. "You'd think if we were in the same organization, we would see each other all the time, but I've run into Death Eaters more times than I've run into either of them."

"That's unfortunate."

Dorcas nods gravely. I allow her a moment of silence to reflect on this depressing fact before I proceed with my next question.

"So, you're underground?" I prompt.

"I probably shouldn't have said that," she says. "Don't tell Mr. Potter I said that. But yes. We're tracking."

"Tracking?" I repeat. "Tracking what?"

"Not what," Dorcas corrects importantly. "Who."

We stay silent for a beat, to fully appreciate the dramatic statement.

"But you can't tell me who, can you?" I say, and she nods. I sigh, leaning back in my chair. "Of course."

"Don't worry," says Dorcas, "In a year or so, you'll be in on all the secrets."

I shift uncomfortably.

"What?" asks Dorcas.

But before I can spill my fears to Dorcas, Benjy has appeared in the doorway.

"Dorcas? Are you up?" he asks, tentatively entering the library.

"Obviously," replies Dorcas dryly. Despite her sarcastic response, Benjy looks intensely relieved.

"Mind if I join the party?" Benjy asks, and I shrug. Benjy walks like a schoolboy. It's quite amusing; he bounces on the balls of his feet and his head is turning in all directions at once, as though ensuring that he doesn't miss anything.

"Glad to see you up, Dore," says Benjy after settling himself in the last comfy chair, next to mine. "You had Ed and I pretty shaken up there."

"Benjamin," says Dorcas, her tone very businesslike. "Am I made of wood?"

"What?" asks Benjy, bemused.

"Do I have hinges?"

"I—no…"

"Then _why_ do you insist upon calling me, 'Door?'" she demands, sounding incredibly annoyed. Benjy rolls his eyes at me as if to say, "I have to deal with this _all the time_." "Dorcas. For the hundredth time, it's not 'Door' like the washroom door, it's 'Dore.' D-O-R-E. Short for 'Dorcas.'"

"I don't like nicknames," says Dorcas simply. I privately decide that it's a shame, because I would much prefer to be called, "Dore," than "Dorcas." Benjy seems to be thinking along the same lines.

"Well, that's a shame, seeing as your name is stupid…"

"Okay, _Benjy_, let's talk about stupid names for a bit, shall we?" Dorcas smirks.

"Remember when I told you she was delightful?" Benjy says to me, and I nod. "That was a lie."

"And it's you two who are protecting me from Lord Voldemort?" I cut into their banter. "I guess I'd better get cracking on my will."

Benjy laughs appreciatively at my display of wit, and even Dorcas cracks a smile.

"So you _are_ feeling better, then?" Benjy asks Dorcas, who nods.

"Yeah. Being conscious does wonders for your morale."

"D'ya think you can walk?" Benjy asks slightly anxiously. "Mrs. Potter sent me in here to fetch you for breakfast, but if you can't make it to the table, I'm sure she can bring you a plate…"

"I can walk," says Dorcas, easing herself out of the chair, wincing a bit at the effort. I place _Charming the Charmed_ at my feet and hop up, ready to aid her if she falls over. Benjy seems to have the same idea, but one-ups me by wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, get _off_," Dorcas tells him impatiently, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. "Didn't I just tell you that I can walk? Are you deaf?"

Benjy makes no response, but complies with her wishes, and we walk slightly behind Dorcas, making our way into the kitchen as if in a miniature parade.

"You look well this morning," says Mrs. Potter approvingly from the kitchen counter once Dorcas falls into her line of sight. The latter nods, and Benjy helps her into her chair, despite her insistence that he "stop fussing."

"I made bacon and eggs," Mrs. Potter continues, swooping down on us at the table and heaping food onto our plates. "Where are James and Ed?"

"Ed was showering when I got up; he should be along soon," Benjy supplies, piling food onto Dorcas' plate first, then his own.

"And James is still asleep, no doubt?" It wasn't a question that required much answering. Mrs. Potter sighed and tossed the towel she was using to dry the dishes on the counter. "I'll go wake him. Honestly, he's such a _child_ sometimes…"

Mrs. Potter leaves the room, muttering to herself, and is quickly replaced by Edgar Bones, who announces himself with a yawn.

"'Morning," he says, his voice cracking in a way that indicates that these are the first words he has spoken since he woke up. He clears his throat and seats himself at the kitchen counter. "You look well," he notes to Dorcas, who nods.

"I feel better," she agrees.

"Reckon you'll be up for Apparating to St. Mungo's?" Ed asks her. He flicks his wand and a glass appears on the counter; a second flick and it fills with orange juice. Dorcas shakes her head.

"I don't think so…I'm scared I might splinch myself," she admits, wincing slightly. "Do you think we could Floo instead?"

Ed takes a long sip of orange juice. "Not sure…we'd better ask Mr. Potter. It might be too dangerous."

"Dangerous?" I question.

"It's really easy to track Floo travel," Ed explains. "If someone is watching the network, we could lead them right to you."

"But the house has protective enchantments on it, doesn't it?" I ask apprehensively.

"Oh, of course," says Ed kindly, clearly seeing that I am nervous and wanting to reassure me. "But we don't know exactly what Mr. Potter and Mad Eye and Dumbledore have done to the place."

"Oh," I say. Before I can come up with any more follow-up questions, we hear James' voice booming from the entryway.

"—not even _that_ late. It's only eleven." He lazily ambles into the room, clad in his flannel pajama pants and an old Tutshill Tornadoes t-shirt, with his hair looking like he went through a wind tunnel.

"Honestly, James, how do you expect to get any N.E.W.T.s if you sleep through half your classes?" asks his mother exasperatedly, shaking her head and busying herself with the tea kettle. James flops down in one of the seats at the counter.

"That's how I got nine O.W.L.s," he shrugs.

"I didn't hear that," says Mrs. Potter. She flicks her wand and plates slide across the counter and in front of each of us.

"'S there any toast?" James asks, unconcerned, but he doesn't receive an answer due to his father's arrival in the kitchen.

"Good morning," he booms, sporting a sincere smile and a bathrobe. I have never seen him look so relaxed.

"'Morning, dad," says James distractedly, still looking at his mother. "So…toast?"

"Why didn't anyone wake me up for the party?" Mr. Potter asks, ruffling his son's hair and clapping me on the shoulder, catching me by surprise. James looks mildly annoyed and rumples his hair again. I resist the urge to roll my eyes; it certainly doesn't look any better. That boy and his hair…

"I was going to let you sleep," Mrs. Potter explained, levitating a cup of tea in front of her husband. "It's you're first day off in fifteen years; you deserve a bit of a lie-in."

"Well, I wasn't at the office at five a.m., so I'll consider that a bit of a lie-in," Mr. Potter quips cheerfully. He turns to Dorcas, clapping his hands once. "So. Feeling up to a bit of a trip?"

Dorcas smiles weakly. "Depends."

Mr. Potter seems to understand, and he nods. "I'm guessing Apparition is out, then?"

"It's probably best," agrees Dorcas. "Could we Floo instead?"

"Too easy to track," Mr. Potter shakes his head.

"I thought out house was protected," says James. "How can they track it if our fireplace isn't being watched?"

"It is being watched," Mr. Potter tells James. "We decided to leave the fireplace open to monitoring, to ease suspicion. If the Ministry were to do a random scan, and find that we had cut ourselves off from the Floo network, they might think we have something to hide."

The answer seems to satiate James, but I still have questions.

"Why does it matter if Dorcas is tracked coming from this house to St. Mungo's?" I want to know. "I mean, when she gets to the hospital, it's going to be pretty clear that she was attacked by a Dark curse…isn't that in itself going to arouse suspicion?"

"Yes and no," says Mr. Potter. He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. "Unfortunately, Dark curses are not exactly uncommon right now. There are enough Healers in the Order that we can cover up reasons why Dorcas was where she was, when she was there. It won't turn too many heads once she's actually there. But how would it look if cursed people kept popping into St. Mungo's from my fireplace?"

"Oh," I reply. "When Gideon was hurt, did anybody get in trouble?"

"No, thankfully," Mr. Potter says. "We were able to get Gideon the treatment he needed without much of a stir. The questions about the unauthorized portkey were hushed up relatively quickly. But back to the matter at hand: how are we going to get you to St. Mungo's?"

He turns back to Dorcas.

"We can always fly," shrugs Benjy.

"That's completely stupid," says Dorcas, shutting down Benjy with such complete finality that I have to resist the urge to laugh.

"Er…so that's out then," Ed says, glancing at Benjy, who looks like he is about to retort. "What about Side-Along Apparition?"

"I'd rather not Apparate at all," Dorcas says shiftily.

"Hate to break it to you, Dore, but you don't have much of a choice here," Benjy says, "what with how ecstatic you were about flying and all. It's either Side-Along or brooms. Pick your poison." For the first time, he sounds honestly annoyed with Dorcas' lack of cooperation; the teasing tone in his voice has gone and has been replaced with exasperation.

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" Dorcas glares, and Benjy throws his hands up in the air.

"Simmer down," Ed tells them, sounding bored. "Benjy, stop aggravating her on purpose. Dorcas, stop complaining and tell us what you want to do. Brooms or Side-Along."

Perhaps it's the fact that he is a few years older than both Benjy and Dorcas, or maybe it's simply the natural air of authority that he carries, but both parties immediately stop their bickering.

Dorcas takes a deep breath. "I really don't think I can Apparate at all. You have to be reasonably fit, even for Side-Along, and I'm just not up for it. We'll…" She gulps somewhat dramatically. "…fly."

Benjy, Ed, and Mr. Potter nod.

"We'll need a broom," says Benjy, eyeing Dorcas carefully.

"You can take mine," offers James, hopping up from his chair. "I'll go grab it from the shed."

"Excellent," says Mr. Potter. He turns back to the remaining boys in the room. "Now, which one of you is going to fly with her?" Ed turns to Benjy, who is still looking at Dorcas.

"Benjy's the better flier," says Ed. He turns to Dorcas. "I'll fly with you, if you'd rather, but I'm really less comfortable on a broom…"

"No, it's alright," says Dorcas with conviction, speaking directly to Benjy. "I trust you."

There is a slightly awkward pause, during which Benjy and Dorcas seem to have forgotten that there are other people in the room. I vaguely recognize the look on Benjy's face as he looks into Dorcas' eyes; I've seen it on James.

"So," says Mr. Potter, clapping his hands again and snapping Benjy and Dorcas out of their moment. Both turn slightly pink, and I smirk to myself. "It's settled. Once James gets back in here, you two can get cracking."

"Here's something for the road," Mrs. Potter says, pushing a wrapped package into Ed's hands. "You three could use a few square meals."

"Thanks, Mrs. Potter," he says. "For everything."

"Yeah," Dorcas adds. "Really."

"Well, hopefully this is only goodbye for now," says Mrs. Potter. "Once you're done with your mission, you come see us straight away, is that clear?"

"Crystal," Benjy nods.

Mrs. Potter pulls each of the members of the Order into a hug in turn, as James bounds into the room, broomstick in hand.

"Here." He holds the broom out to Benjy, who takes it and runs his hand down the smooth wood.

"Damn," he says, admiring the craftsmanship.

"Right?" says James.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, it's a _broomstick_," scoffs Dorcas. "Let's just get this over with."

"Here; I'll Disillusion the both of you," says Ed, and he whips out his wand, tapping each of their heads in turn. Within a few moments, Dorcas and Benjy have become chameleons.

"You lot stay safe," says Mr. Potter, leading everyone out onto the patio.

"We'll do our best," promises Ed.

"Ready, Dore?" Benjy asks, and I vaguely see him mount the broom.

"Call me that one more time and I'll push you off in midair," says Dorcas through gritted teeth.

"Just get on," says Benjy exasperatedly, and I see Dorcas' outline climb on behind him. She gingerly wraps her arms around his waist. "Hold on tight."

"I swear to _Merlin_, you better not crash," warns Dorcas.

"I thought you trusted me?" Benjy quips lightly.

"Bye, then," Ed says to us.

"Bye," Dorcas repeats. "It was lovely meeting you, Lil—Melina."

"Likewise," I say, nodding.

"We'll try to see you soon," Benjy promises.

"I'll hold you to that," James replies.

"This has _got_ to be the longest goodbye in history," Dorcas remarks, and everyone laughs a little.

"Are you ready?" asks Benjy.

"As I'll ever be."

Benjy kicks off, and Dorcas lets out a small scream.

"Oh relax. This is going to be fun," we hear Benjy say from above us, and Ed shakes his head.

"You keep them in line, son," Mr. Potter tells Ed.

"That's what I'm here for," he replies. "Goodbye, now."

He turns on the spot, and disappears with a _crack_.

"_Goodness_, they're amusing children, aren't they?" says Mrs. Potter, laughing lightly.

"Yes," agrees Mr. Potter, but he is frowning, and rubbing his forehead with his left hand. "They really are children."

* * *

_We've given our lives to the Order._

My bare feet on the grass sound like heartbeats.

_Everyone dying everywhere…not being able to see your friends…putting your own family in danger…_

The sun beats down on me, and I wipe my brow to rid it of a thin film of sweat.

_We're all scared. Everyone is. Being scared's part of the deal._

It's a beautiful August day; a slight breeze rustles the leaves of the Potter's peach trees.

_I've run into Death Eaters more times than I've run into either of them._

It's a perfect day for a walk. I need to clear my head a bit.

_In a year or so, you'll be in on all the secrets._

It's proving harder than I would like.

"Lil! Hey, Lily!"

James is jogging across the garden. I turn and wait for him to catch up with me.

"What is it?" I ask him, and I sound a little more tired than I intended.

"What're you doing out here?" asks James as he falls into stride beside me. "And where are your shoes?"

"I just fancied a walk," I shrug.

"With no shoes on?"

"It's easier to think without shoes on," I tell him, although I'm aware that it sounds rather strange out loud. James raises his eyebrows.

"Alright then," he says slowly. "You're a complete loon, you know that?"

"What do you want, James?" I ask, sounding a little annoyed.

"I just wanted to talk." He puts his hands up as if in surrender. "Are you angry with me or something?"

"I don't know," I say distractedly.

James rolls his eyes. "She doesn't know," he says to himself. "Alright, then, Evans. Can you tell me why you are not _not_ angry with me?"

"Well, you were rather an insensitive git to me yesterday," I inform him, crossing my arms.

"Yesterday? When we were talking about the Order?" asks James. "I wasn't being insensitive; you were being oversensitive!"

"_Oversensitive_?" I balk. "Right, yeah, because being scared of joining a rebel organization after being removed from my house, taken away from my parents, forced to live in hiding, being attacked by Death Eaters, and watching people nearly die on the kitchen table is _clearly _an overreaction!"

"Oh that's not fair, don't do that," James says. "You know you were being oversensitive."

"I was _not_!" I say indignantly, my stomach bubbling in anger again. "I'm _scared_, James, and you're my boyfriend! You're supposed to comfort me!"

"But you're Lily Evans!" James laughs—_laughs!_ I dare you to find a more infuriating human being. "You don't need a boyfriend to comfort you! You were acting all whiny and scared over things that haven't even happened yet! That's not you, Lily."

I just sort of stare at him after that little speech. I think there was a compliment in there somewhere, but I still figure he missed the point a bit.

"I'm oversensitive and you're insensitive," I say, shaking my head. "What a pair we are."

"Was that a joke?" James asks, cracking a crooked smile. "Joking's good; does that mean I'm forgiven?"

"I'm not sure," I say slowly. "I'm not entirely sure what I'm forgiving you for."

James looks up at the sky as though having a private conversation with God about how annoying I am. He takes a deep breath before speaking. "Well, do you think you could make up your mind?"

"I'm working on it," I grumble.

"Are we in a fight or not?"

"I don't know; I can't really tell," I say uncertainly, and this much is true. This may sound stupid, but here's the thing: when James and I fight, there are…fireworks. We yell until our faces are red and our voices are hoarse. Things get broken. There are tornadoes and hurricanes and floods and fires. When James and I fight, all hell breaks loose. And right now, there are no fireworks.

So is this a fight?

"Let me simplify it for you," says James exasperatedly, rudely interrupting my thought process before I can come to a conclusion. "Do you want to be in a fight?"

I hate fighting with James.

"No."

"Then it's settled!" He kisses the top of my head and smiles broadly. "We're not in a fight."

"Oh…kay," I say, a little confused about what just happened. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," James beams. "Now, c'mon, Remus and Sirius'll be here any minute."

"What's that?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten!" says James excitedly, leading me back towards the house. "Remus and Sirius are visiting today."

"No, James, after I thought Death Eaters had come to kill us and then three members of the Order show up bloody and mangled on our doorstep, the only thing on my mind was the fact that your two best friends are coming over today," I say sarcastically.

"You're really witty, you know that?" says James dryly. "Very, very clever."

"James!"

James' head snaps up and his eyes find his father, standing at the garden gate.

"Your mates are here!" calls Mr. Potter. Like an overexcited puppy, James' smile broadens without another word to me, he sprints away from me. I follow at a much slower pace, because as much as I enjoy Remus' company and…well, I suppose I'm relatively indifferent to Sirius…I can't help but cringe at my last encounter with each of them.

"Padfoot!" I hear James roar Sirius' ridiculous nickname from the entryway. As I enter the house, two boys come into view. James has Sirius in an enormous bear hug, and it appears that not all parties are consenting.

"C'mon—oi—be cool, mate," says Sirius, struggling to free himself from James' death grip while Remus stands in the corner, chuckling to himself. We make eye contact. I smile; he winks.

"Right then," says Sirius once he has managed to untangle himself from his best friend. "I'm starving." He looks expectantly at Mrs. Potter, flashing her a smile that turns most girls to jelly.

"Padfoot…" Remus admonishes, but Mrs. Potter only laughs.

"You know where the kitchen is, dearie," she says. "I think Pinky just finished whipping up some biscuits."

"Excellent." Sirius claps his hands and pushes past me towards the promised treats. Like a true gentleman, James bounds after him.

"Good to see you, Melina," says Remus, barely concealing his amusement as he follows his friends into the kitchen, which leaves me alone in the entryway with Mrs. Potter.

"Aren't you going to go get a snack?" she asks me, to which I shake my head.

"Nah. I've got stuff to read."

I don't really wait for her to say anything; I suddenly feel very, very alone. Isn't it ironic how when you feel lonely, all you want to do is be by yourself and cry? I manage to make it to my room before allowing the tears to fall, but it's a close call. I don't even care that I haven't gone to the library like I told Mrs. Potter, because all I can do is lay curled up on my bed, clutching my stomach as though trying to fill the void that has settled there. Seeing James with his friends hit me like a ton of bricks. I may never get to throw myself into Mary or Emmeline's arms again. I might never get to tell them who I really am. I might lose my friends forever.

I try to stifle my sobs with my pillow, but it doesn't really do any good and I am beyond caring. I thought I had made my peace with this situation, but apparently not. I thought I was stronger than this. _Being someone else is better than being dead_, I tell myself, but is it really? Because if I'm someone else, haven't I died just a little?

* * *

"Melina!" I hear James' voice booming from the hallway—and I also definitely hear more than one pair of footsteps. I've stopped crying, but my face is still puffy and my eyes are still red. Panicking, I look in the mirror and take deep breaths, but it doesn't really do too much good. Seconds later, James is pounding on my door. "Melina! Dinner!"

"Just a moment!" I call back, my voice cracking slightly.

"What's that?" asks James, but before I can reply, he just bursts through the door, Remus and Sirius in tow.

"What happened to knocking?" I demand, trying to look intimidating in hopes that if I seem angry, my red eyes and puffy face will go unnoticed.

"Isn't this your guest room?" Sirius asks James, examining my bed and dresser.

"Excuse me, but that's my stuff," I say, and Sirius puts down the picture frame he's holding.

"What are you on about? This is Mel's room," says James easily, without so much as a glance at me.

"I've been in here before, and the last I checked, it didn't belong to her." Sirius' eyebrows are furrowed. I look at James anxiously, and he gives me an almost-unnoticeable shake of the head.

"Come off it, mate," James laughs. "You were probably too drunk to remember what it properly looked like."

"What the hell is going on?" Sirius wants to know. "You keeping secrets from me?"

"Padfoot, we've both been in here," says Remus quietly. "This is Melina's room."

I want to kiss Remus for his helpfulness, but I resist the urge. Sirius is looking between the three of us shrewdly.

"There's something not right about this," he states.

"Whatever, Black," says James, rolling his eyes. "Weren't you just saying how hungry you were?"

"Yes, let's eat. I'm starved," I add, jumping on this new change of subject with enthusiasm. I lead the way out of the room, and Remus and James follow.

"Sirius?" James prompts. I turn around; Sirius is still standing in the middle of my room, surveying it like a detective.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he grumbles, and he follows us out, somewhat reluctantly. I catch James' eye. He looks worried.

* * *

I'm not particularly hungry, but I don't want to arouse any suspicion by not attending dinner. Besides, I am nervous about what Sirius might say, and I want to be present to hear whatever it is. I manage to exchange a worried look with James as we sit down, but he says nothing and neither do I.

"This smells excellent, Mrs. Potter," Remus comments, sitting down between James and Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter snorts.

"That's sweet, Remus, but it was all the House-Elves' doing," says Mrs. Potter good-naturedly.

"They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach," says Mr. Potter, "but if that was true, I'd still be single."

James and I laugh, and even Sirius cracks a smile at Mr. Potter's wit.

"Keep this up and you will be," warns Mrs. Potter, brandishing a fork. We all chortle a bit at the Potter's bickering as the House-Elves serve us our meal. I eye Sirius carefully as we dig in, but thankfully, he seems more absorbed in the food than he is in his previous suspicions.

"So, did you boys have fun today?" asks Mrs. Potter.

"Mum, we're not twelve," James replies, mouth full of chicken.

"I'm sorry. Did you _men_ have fun today?" she edits. I can't help but snort into my own mashed potatoes.

"Something funny?" says James.

"No, no, nothing at all," I reply teasingly.

There's a _whooshing _noise that comes from the main room, and everyone looks up from their meal.

"What's that?" asks Remus.

"Floo network," says Mr. Potter shortly, pushing his plate away and standing up. "Someone needs to talk to me. I'll be right back."

He suddenly looks serious.

"In the middle of dinner?" says Mrs. Potter, somewhat pleadingly.

"It might be urgent."

Mr. Potter leaves, and we all go back to our food, but I am careful to eat as quietly as I can. I wonder if everyone else is straining to hear the conversation going on in the next room. But it doesn't take long for Mr. Potter to stride back in, a heavy look on his face.

"I've got to go," he tells his wife.

"But it's your day off!" she protests, putting down her fork. Mr. Potter just shakes his head.

"I've got to." He takes his coat from the hall closet. "See you boys tomorrow. I won't be back until late."

With a curt nod and without a chance for any of us to try to change his mind, he Dissaparates.

We sit in silence for a long time. Not even Sirius has a joke to crack. After what seems like an eternity of staring at my plate, I hear the clink of silverware and I look up to see Mrs. Potter is clearing the table.

"Well, that's that, then," she says briskly, flicking her wand and levitating all the dishes into the sink. Sirius makes the smallest sound of protest at the removal of his food, but seems to think better of it when James gives him a look.

"We'll just go upstairs," says Remus, and we all follow him as he stands. Even though it's James' house, he leads us up the stairs and into James' room, which is significantly messier than it was when I was last here.

Sirius leans coolly against James' closet door as James flops down on his (unmade) bed. Remus is sitting at James' desk and I am left standing somewhat awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Where do you reckon he's off to?" Sirius wants to know. There's no need to clarify who "he" is.

"Like I know," James says. "Those Ministry idiots can't seem to do anything without him."

"I wish we could follow him," says Sirius. No one dignifies this ridiculous idea with a response. When it becomes clear that his comment will elicit no feedback, Sirius says, "C'mon, Prongs, don't you wish you knew where he was always going off to?"

"Shut up, Sirius," James snaps. "Don't be a prat."

"Who're you calling a prat?" says Sirius heatedly.

"Cut it out, both of you," Remus says loudly. Silence falls again and James runs a hand through his hair. The tension is so palpable that I doubted even a Reductor curse could blast it apart.

"I'm just going to…uh…yeah," I finish lamely, gesturing towards the door. No one pays me much attention as I slip out, closing the door behind me.

I go back to my room, with the intention of spending the remainder of the evening sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling sorry for myself. However, when James knocks on my door and slips in without so much as a word from me, I know my plans are dashed.

"What are you doing in here?" I ask, sitting up on my bed. He sits next to me without bothering to close my door.

"Sirius's being a tosser," James replies simply, with a shrug. He snakes an arm around my waist and I rest my head on his shoulder. I have to say, for all our fighting and arguing, for all our pretending to be people we aren't and sneaking around, I love how naturally we still seem to fit together. _Maybe we can do this_.

"About your dad?"

James grunts in reply.

"Why does it bother you so much that he's gone?" I want to know. James tenses up beside me, and I backtrack a bit. "No, I just mean…he's gone all the time, you know? And it didn't bother you before…"

"Well, you just said it," James says gruffly. "He's gone all the time. That's when he's on duty and all. But he can't even have one fucking day off without someone calling him in…I mean, maybe he'll never…" James stops, and I don't press. I understand. It's not that James' dad left, it's the fear that James will never have his father to himself. I press myself closer to him, trying to convey as much as I can through movement rather than words. He squeezes me a little tighter.

"You should go back," I say quietly. "They'll wonder where you've gone off to."

"I told them I was in the loo." And he kisses me.

"Cut it out," I say once I manage to pull away, even though it's really the last thing I want. James seems to sense that, and he laughs at me, swooping down on me again.

"I mean it."

Another kiss.

"Leave, James."

Again, my boyfriend fails at following simple instructions.

"You don't want them to come looking for you, do you?"

He kisses me again, deeply, hungrily, and I feel a shock run through my system. For those few sunlit moments, I've forgotten about Sirius and Remus and James' father and everything else in the world, because there's only James and his soft, silky hair and his lips on mine and…

"You really should go." I put a hand on his chest to push him away. I don't know how I found those words, because I'm certainly not thinking them, and when James laughs, I feel the vibrations under my fingers.

"We still have some time."

"You're pushing your luck." However, I allow him to kiss me again. I get one for the road, don't I? "They're not thick."

"They're pretty thick," James says.

"Who's pretty thick?"

We both jump, suddenly springing apart as though electrocuted. If I had to venture I guess, I would say that only the sight of Sirius Black standing in the still-open doorway could have stopped James from kissing me. Remus is helplessly behind him, and I look to James for guidance, but he seems to be, for once, at a loss for words.

Sirius crosses the room, surveying both James and I carefully. I recoil slightly, and force myself to stand.

"You," he points to me. "And you." He points to his best friend. "Explain."

* * *

**A/N:** Pretty predictable ending, yeah? But it had to happen sometime...thank you to absolutely everyone who reviewed: theJPconspiracy, Queen Lover, accio-food, Lily-Evans-James-Potter, PoohBearGoesGangster, , pineappleshaker, may-bell-rose, HPRWHGLuvu, Eleos, Moonfrost127, I-Siriusly-Love-Black, pigckle8, movinggirl, xSoulFighterx, Real Men Play Quidditch, ColorLikeWhoa, TeenTypist, Penguin Boxers, UnicornTamer, buddygirl1004, valenari, AMessofPickles, NegligibleNaina, okok123, Alexs tricest review, isigirl, sugarquills-and-lillies, IckleblueeyedWitch, and Carmelized! You are all wonderful and fabulous and I love you.

Also, we are nearing the end of the summer, and therefore, the end of the story. It looks like there'll be around three chapters left, maybe four? One of those. So that's the status on that. Oh, and I also now have a tumblr account, where I like to waste my time and be generally unproductive. It's demitria-elena (dot) tumblr (dot) com, if you're interested haha.

The next chapter will come MUCH quicker than this one, I promise. Hopefully by the end of March you guys will have chapter 16. I think I'll stop rambling here...see you guys soon!


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